Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs
by Capricious Purple Clarity
Summary: SEQUEL! GWHP crossover. The Gundam pilots plus Draco attempt to go on with their lives as usual, which isn’t very usual at all. But what’s this about a second prophecy? And why is Harry looking for an Heir to Slytherin that isn’t Voldemort? YAOI
1. Sentimental Gryffindor Tripe

**REVISION! PLEASE READ! Last night, I'd intended to work on chapter two, but I got side-tracked by the need to revise chapter one. Oops. :grins: There's about four pages of new material in this chapter. I know it's not an update, but at least it's something, right:laughs sheepishly:**

**DISCLAIMER**: Sadly, I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I own Harry Potter in any way. All major characters that appear in this fic are the product of someone else's creativity; I just like pulling them out of the prop closet and making them obey my every whim. This disclaimer applies to all chapters from hereon out.

**STATUS**: This fic is not only a crossover, but a sequel to **_Harry Potter and the Secret Link_**. Things probably won't make a hell of a lot of sense if you don't bother reading that one first.

**TIME LINE**: ... has already been established in the first installment of this crossover, but I'll do it anyway. The year is A.C. 197, and all dates and events that occur within Harry Potter cannon have been adjusted to this date. This isn't a time travel fic; this is the universe of Harry Potter being relocated into the same time as the universe of Gundam Wing. The HP and GW crews begin their seventh and final year at Hogwarts.

**WARNINGS**: This story is SLASH, or, in the anime community, YAOI. Not familiar with these terms? Well, there are established same sex pairings. Don't like it? That's what the nifty little back button is for. Intrigued:_grins_: Welcome.

**SUMMARY**: SEQUEL! GWHP crossover. The Gundam pilots plus Draco attempt to go on with their lives as usual, which isn't very usual at all... but what's this about a second prophecy? And why is Harry looking for an Heir to Slytherin that isn't Voldemort? YAOI.

**PAIRINGS**: Established 1+2, 3+4, HPD(B), and I think RWHG is a given... (To explain who "D(B)" is... well, you really do have to read the previous fic to explain that...)

**SPECIAL NOTE**: Since I started writing HP and the Secret Link long before the fifth book came out, the cannon storyline of HP actually deviates after the fourth book. It's one of those Sirius and Dumbledore are alive things, but only because I was too lazy to make adjustments, and Sirius is actually important to my plot. I made that point to make this point. In the fifth book, it's mentioned that Dumbledore was forced to retire from his position on the Wizengamot. In this fic, he's still a member of the Wizengamot. Fudge is also still Minister, but he's coming dangerously close to losing his position by this point. The only reason he hasn't been booted out of office yet is because, while there is proof of Death Eater activity, there's still no proof that Voldemort's back, and the wizarding world prefers the ignorance.

**SPECIAL NOTE THE SECOND**: I am an ignorant American and, therefore, do not know the ins and outs of Bletchingly. My description of the Malfoy lands in Bletchingly are probably very, very wrong, but I'm going by a broad generalization of what I know about typical English country-sides from what I've seen on TV. :_pauses_: Mostly shows from the Discovery and Travel Channels. Or National Lampoon's European Vacation... Bad example. Never mind. Point is, if you're from Bletchingly or have BEEN to Bletchingly, please forgive me if I got everything horribly wrong.

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_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter One**_

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If one were to take the time to make simple observations about the differences between living on a colony and living on Earth, one would first be required to specify as to which location on Earth one would use to make such a comparison. Typically, one would also be required to go as far as to pick a specific season, as well; while most colonies had fully functional artificial climate and precipitation controls, leaving room for no question when the news declared rain or snow, Earth's weather system was a lot more volatile and unpredictable.

Weather, in fact, was a good place to start.

Excepting colonies that were unfinished or in the poorest of condition, the weather on each individual colony was accurate to what one would expect on Earth. When the news claimed it would rain, it rained. When the news said to prepare for snow, it snowed. There were never any lasting problems with the weather on a colony, mostly because such things were carefully regulated. Rain would never fall more than the standard six inches, and snowfall was kept at a standard two inches. On Earth, things were vastly different. Man, despite all technological advances, had yet to really find a way to harness and control Earth's weather system. This left room for a lot of capriciousness when it came to meteorological conditions. There were flash floods, hurricanes, tornados, typhoons, droughts, and snowstorms that typically plagued certain parts of the planet's surface. These were things true-born colonists could only read about and never experience unless they actually visited Earth; even then, it took very special circumstances for them to actually experience such things.

Another thing one could consider while comparing the living conditions of a colony to Earth was landscape. On a colony, the ground continued forward until it eventually curved, but it didn't stop there. One's eyes would follow the landscape further and further up until finally, through the simulated hologram of the sky, one could see the landscape turn inward until it completely circled above; and then one's eyes would finally trace the landscape's curve once more, falling downward until finally settling right-side up again.

"It sounds like a hamster habitat."

"You _smell_ like a hamster habitat. Can I finish?"

Draco Black spread his arms out, hands splayed as a peace offering of good-will. The smirk on his devilishly handsome face belayed that gesture. "Please, do go on, hamster boy."

Duo Maxwell decided that, by the time the sun rose, he was going to throw the smarmy little prick into the pool. "Thank you. Growing up on Earth all of your life, you wouldn't really be able to understand the sheer magnitude of the difference in landscape. Ours curves inwardly, floating around the Earth in space. Yours is much bigger and curves outwardly; humans live on the surface here, but on the colonies? We live in the core. Understand me so far?"

"Vaguely. What keeps colonists from falling off the upside down part? I mean, it sounds wonky to me."

"It would," Trowa Barton said, stroking the head of a particularly feisty kitten they'd come to call Crookshank's Spawn ("Spawn" for short). "The wizarding world doesn't concern itself with muggle science much."

"All livable colonies have artificial gravity. Gravity is the force that attracts a body towards the center of the earth or towards any other physical body having mass," Heero Yuy said knowingly, hardly taking the time to look up from the book that lay open in his lap.

Draco ground his teeth together in a (these days) very rare urge to say something out of line. He hated being tactful even to his own mother, and he _still_ smarted-off to her on almost every occasion. To be fair, she gave as good as she got; his mother was whom he'd gotten his attitude from. Even when he was as old as four, he remembered that his mother's main weapon of defense was always scathing sarcasm, and she did _not_ spare her son from this. Oh, she was caring and loving and devoted to Draco. She had admitted confidently on any occasion that she would sacrifice not only her status and wealth, but also her very life and _soul_ to keep her son unharmed. Her maternal love for him was that fierce. Draco could have no better mother, in his opinion; but she didn't _not_ coddle him in the least. When it came to her attitude, a young child of four was fair game.

He mentally shook himself of thoughts of his mother, coming back to the source of his irritation for having the urge to say something he may have later regretted because, well, it was _Heero Yuy_ he'd be smarting off to, and sometimes Heero actually scared him that much in presence alone. He hated the Japanese boy's habit of treating him like an incompetent ninny when it came to muggle science. Nothing spectacular like really complex physics and astrophysics, but he knew about biology and basic physics. He had no idea where Heero and, on a lesser degree, his other four muggle-raised friends got their impression that all pureblooded wizards and witches where completely inept in anything like muggle arithmetic and science, but he suspected Ronald Weasley was to blame. The Weasley family was too poor to even pay a hundredth of what Draco's tutors earned _individually_; Lucius would not tolerate anything but the best teachers for Draco.

Some believed that Lucius Malfoy was a very cold, sinister father who would not expect anything but perfection from his only heir. They would assume that Lucius Malfoy cared about having the perfect replica of himself in his heir, instead of the well-being of his son. People perceived that Lucius was a very unloving father, desiring to be more of a "sire"; certainly nothing as tender-hearted as "dad". The truth of the matter was, Lucius loved him very much, and just as fiercely as Narcissa. He wanted the best of everything for Draco, never wanting his son to be left without. Draco had the best toys, the best governess, and the best education money could buy. Tutors just happened to fall under that category.

His father's very posture and presence with everyone he deemed beneath his status was the fault of that little misconception. Lucius Malfoy thought _everyone_ was beneath him, and he made damn sure that anyone who didn't run in his circles (and most of the people who did, barring only a select few) knew what he thought of them, so confident in his superiority. Families like the Weasleys had it worse than anyone, as they were very low in status despite being purebloods. To Lucius, the way he treated families like the Weasleys only marginally _less_ contemptuously compared to mudbloods and muggles was because of his absolute certainty that few were higher in status than him because he was a Malfoy, and there couldn't possibly be anyone purer or wealthier or powerful than the Malfoys. (Thus the need to have a perfect _heir_ to the perfect _name_, at least in the eyes of an outsider.) That purity, wealth, and power was something attached to the very name, and Lucius was _very_ proud of his name. Lucius was the very picture of arrogance and contempt towards anyone he considered less than his status.

This was the same posture and presence that Draco had inherited, in fact. It was probably one of only two things Draco ever really learned from his father, and it had a large impact on Draco's life. Lucius' desire for Draco to have the best had spoiled Draco to the point that everything he owned was nothing less than anything anyone else owned. That led to the other personality trait that Draco had inherited from his father; his pride in his heritage and, consequently, his status. His way of making sure everyone beneath his status as a Malfoy was not only responsible for his habit of treating everyone scornfully (going to the extent of even treating some of his own professors with barely-restrained contempt), but through shoving his status in everyone's faces by having the best of everything. Draco was every bit the perfect, spoiled, meanspirited git everyone made him out to be.

People often assumed Draco's cynicism was because he felt pressured to be perfect by his father, but Lucius wasn't the source of his cynicism in the least. That facet of his persona was every bit his mother's fault. Draco may have physically resembled his father and shared the same arrogance, but his scathing wit and sharp cynicism was all his mother's doing.

Draco was almost like a perfect blend of both of his parents. Aside from having his mother's nose and, to some extent, her bone structure, everything else was like a younger, mirrored Lucius Malfoy. On the other hand, almost everything about his attitude was what he'd learned from his mother, aside from his arrogance, which was all Lucius.

"Are you all right, Draco?"

Quatre's soft voice, suddenly loud in his ears, startled him from his musing. He realized belatedly that they other five had long ago fallen silent; one of them had probably asked him something during his pondering over his parents. They were almost something he always thought about, especially since this was the first summer in his entire life that he wasn't with them. Lucius Malfoy had been forced to disinherit his son to protect him from Voldemort, who wanted to remove Draco's soul and take over his still-living empty shell. Lucius couldn't outwardly defy his master in anything, knowing the consequences of questioning the Dark Lord's authority; however, he had not been willing to sacrifice his son for his lord, and Narcissa certainly wasn't going to have it. They were going to keep him as safe as possible, even if Lucius had to sacrifice his heir and Narcissa had to sacrifice her status as Lucius Malfoy's wife. Before consulting the Dark Lord, Lucius immediately removed responsibility of Draco from himself and, so Draco wouldn't be nameless, penniless, and homeless, divorced Narcissa in the very same instant. It was this way that Narcissa could give Draco _her_ name, _her_ status as a Black, _her_ fortune. They sacrificed their very marriage to make sure Draco was safe from harm _and_ well taken-care of.

He mentally shook himself, feeling the urge to slip into another silent contemplation about his parents. Instead, he'd found that thinking about them had been a wonderful diversion in order to calm down after Heero unintentionally insulted his intelligence. Again.

"Yeah, I was... thinking," Draco said vaguely before looking at Heero straight in the eye. "Look, Heero, I don't know why you continue to assume that being a pureblood means I'm a complete idiot when it comes down to what you five learned before coming to Hogwarts, and seriously, I'm pretty certain it has something to do with the Weasel's stupidity; but I'm not an idiot. I _know_ what gravity is. Just like I know that atoms are the basic building blocks of matter, and how the molecular structure of water was H2O, which is two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom. I know basic physics, as hard as that is for you guys to believe. Spirits, having Ronald Weasley as your first impression of first purebloods when it comes to things muggles continue to learn throughout their schooling has really made my life difficult. Yet more proof that the Weasel really is the bane of my existence."

"If it makes you feel any better," Trowa said blandly, "Quatre's been trying to drill that into them since he realized they were making a habit of talking to you as if they were speaking to Ron. He knew you weren't going to like it."

"Quatre's just as wealthy as I am," Draco pointed out. "He probably understands how different being highborn and having an education is compared to a lowborn's education. People like us get the best tutors money can buy; the Weasleys parents, however, probably took the responsibility of educating their children themselves, and it was most likely a very _basic_ education."

"In other words, we're absolutely _slaughtering_ your pride," Duo said with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, man. Guess it never occurred to me before. We'll try to curb the habit to break everything simplistic down to baby steps for you, okay?"

Thank the spirits. "I'll hold you to that."

Quatre was actually smiling happily at Draco, his palm absently resting over his heart. It didn't take much for Draco to guess that Quatre was impressed with how he'd handled his urge to rage about the matter, especially considering how close to the surface his temper was over the matter right after Heero defined the word 'gravity'. By all rights, Draco was entirely too different from Quatre to even share the same _air_. Where Draco was contemptuous, sarcastic, cynical, and arrogant, Quatre was thoughtful, sanguine, peacemaking, and completely loyal. The two physically resembled each other quite a lot, but the similarities ended there. Draco was supposed to despise Hufflepuffs just as strongly as he hated Gryffindors; both houses were completely useless, in his book. But Quatre was a completely different story. If one took away his compassion and optimism, Quatre Rebarba _Malfoy_ Winner was a tactical, sharp business mogul that had a great mind for strategy and the unofficial status as the "leader" of the other four. When Quatre had something to say in matters of that lead to missions and such, the Winner heir was the one the other four deferred to. Likewise, Quatre was a fair leader. He listened to the opinions of everyone before making quick, smart decisions about how he and the others were going to complete the mission alive, along with anyone else involved.

Quatre was one of those rare nice guys that were to be respected instead of looked down on for being a nice guy. Draco still insisted that every other Hufflepuff, however, was a witless moron.

Duo snuggled up to his boyfriend's side with a lopsided grin. "But isn't it nice to have a walking, talking dictionary for a boyfriend?"

Heero snorted and decided not to reply to that.

"I'm betting you meant you wanted to know how gravity is applied to the colony instead of how gravity works," Quatre said knowingly, his eyes soft and understanding. If the rumors were taken to be true, Quatre was apparently a very gifted empath. He probably understood the emotional cocktail Draco was feeling better than Draco himself.

"Boiled down for simplicity's sake," Quatre said with a smile, "muggles use technology to artificially create gravity in space. In colonies, should the artificial gravity fail, colonists and things that aren't pinned to the ground would float around aimlessly -a condition known as zero gravity- until the problem would be fixed. At that point, they would have to gradually reintroduce gravity to the colony; if they were to suddenly turn the gravity on at full force, everything and everyone _would_ fall as if they had jumped off of a skyscraper."

"That's an extremely tall building," Duo said teasingly.

Draco gave the American a haughty scowl. "I know what a skyscraper is!"

"Because Wufei had to explain it to you!"

"Maxwell!" Wufei said sharply. "Stop teasing Black.(1) There are a lot of things about the wizarding world that he has yet to explain to you. I suggest you not rub his ignorance of the muggle world in his face."

"Yes, Mother," Duo quipped back dutifully. "Now where was I?"

"Hamster wheel," Draco replied with a smug grin. "You were explaining how living in a colony is similar to a hamster wheel."

While it was a surprisingly apt analogy, Duo wasn't going to stroke Draco's ego about it. "Well, think about it, dragon boy. It's kind of hard to emphasize just how modern colonies are when your only example of modern muggle civilization is what you've managed to glean from brief peaks of muggle London. Over the many centuries that have passed, London hasn't actually changed all that much and, besides spreading wider, everything looks as if it's been carefully preserved in time. Aside from the requisite park that serves as a natural habitat for the harmless animals that live on the colony, everything as far as the eye can see is more like New York City, save for the suburban districts.

"But here, on Earth, there's actually land that hasn't been flattened down and paved over." Duo pointed at the elegant, far-reaching windows that seemed to encompass the small loft in one of the towers they'd settled in. The sky was just beginning to light up with the promise of the nearing sun, and stars were beginning to wink dimly and fade from the ever-lighting sky. They could see the hills rolling in the distance, unspoiled but for a few thicket of trees that clung together here and there.

"Everything's so green and natural," Duo explained softly, eyes still drawn to the window. "Nothing like any colony I've ever been on. And L2 doesn't even hold a _candle_ in comparison. Yeah, we have things that simulate living on Earth, but it's not like the real thing.

"And that, my friends, is exactly why I woke all of you up at four o'clock in the morning," Duo finished with a wide grin. "We're going to watch the sun rise."

Draco snorted. "Finally! And the braid-boy gets to his point." He, no doubt, had been wondering why Duo had broken into his room to hurriedly shake him awake claiming there was an emergency, only to find that Duo had dragged everyone up to the tower for a little storytelling.

"We're going to watch the sun rise," Wufei said flatly, almost as if he couldn't quite believe something as simple as that was what everything had been all about.

"Yep."

"Give me a reason as to why I shouldn't go back to bed right now, Maxwell."

"Because you'll only get up in about fifteen minutes to do your katas before breakfast anyway."

Trowa chuckled quietly. "He's got you there."

"Couldn't we have just watched the sun _set_?" Draco grumbled, not at all pleased to be awake before breakfast. "It's _like_ a sunrise, but in reverse."

"A sunset is nothing like a sunrise," Duo said defensively, nudging Draco's thigh with his toes. "The sunset marks the _end_ of a day; it's far too depressing. But a sunrise is the _start_ of a new day, therefore, it's much more sentimental and hopeful."

"That's just _like_ a bloody Gryffindor to say," Draco mumbled under his breath.

"Bet Harry likes sunrises," Duo said with a leering grin. "C'mon, dragon boy, where's your poetic soul?"

"The dementor ate it," Draco retorted snidely, scooting away from Duo's prodding toes. "Good riddance, I say. I'd hate to be an overbearing romantic sod like you."

The American promptly decided he was going to ignore the former Malfoy heir's smarm in favor of chalking the blond's attitude as being a direct result of Draco not exactly being a morning person in any sense of the phrase. Instead, he gently lifted Heero's wrist and checked the time.

"Sunrise in four... three... two..."

The sun breaking over the horizon was a spectacular sight of warm colors driving away the darkness of night. As a general rule, Duo preferred nights to days; night time provided a great cover for infiltration and extraction and/or destruction missions, and no one was better than that than Duo Maxwell. While the soldier instincts that were alive and kicking inside of him still had a strong taste for night, the relatively new "average citizen" that was attempting to flourish had an aesthetic appreciation for early morning, as well.

Quatre sighed wistfully. "Still as glorious as ever."

"I know," Duo said happily. "It never gets old." Out of the corner of his eye, the American could see Draco staring at the horizon with a faraway expression on his pale face, golden with the full onset of the early morning sun, Duo realized two things. One: Draco wasn't as dull and bitter about life as he made himself out to be, and two: It was no wonder Draco refused to tan, since such a color would clash horribly with his hair.

When the sun rose completely from the horizon, however, Draco immediately shook himself from his pondering and smirked at Duo. "And now I've lost interest."

Right. Duo should have expected that.

"Hey, what are you–? _Duo_! Duo, put me down _right now_!"

"Maxwell, what are you doing?" Wufei asked wearily, eyeing the blond that Duo had easily thrown over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

The American looked at Wufei and smirked wickedly. "You'll see."

"No, you won't! Duo, _put me down_!"

"You'd make this a lot easier on me if you'd stop wiggling, dragon boy," Duo said blithesomely, carrying Draco from the room and down the steps with ease.

"Oh, because that's my plan all along, isn't it?" Draco said scathingly. "To make whatever it is you plan to do with me easier on you. _Put me down, damn you_!" He punctuated his heated statement with an especially harsh wiggle that nearly caused Duo to overbalance and fall forward down the winding steps.

"You don't _really_ want to fall down these steps, do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then no wiggling until we at least hit ground floor," Duo admonished with a smirk. "Then you can wiggle all you want, but it won't change the fact that you have a destined date with the pool."

"The pool! The hell I do! Duo, these pajamas are silk of the finest quality, and the best that money can buy! Do you have any idea what the cleaning potions in the pool water will do to them? Not to mention the fact that they're dry clean only!"

"I think the real question here is: how does this affect me, and why should I care?"

In the end, despite many protests and frequent threats on Duo's life that the American later claimed were "made out of love", Draco inevitably ended up thoroughly soaked in water, his ruined pajamas clinging to his body like a second skin.

Duo watched Draco climb from the pool with a manic grin on his face as the blond shot him a particularly lethal glare. "One of these days, dragon boy, when we've caught you up on all the marvels of the muggle world, we're going to take a trip to a colony so you can get the full extent of what I mean."

The blond made an effort to pull the revealing second skin away from his body, his glare heated as he growled, "I'd kill you if I didn't think your boyfriend would get to me first."

"Such is the advantage of having a boyfriend who is just that cool," Duo crowed boastfully, head thrown back as he laughed at the ceiling. Later, Heero would point out that this was where Duo made his crucial mistake. Taking one's eyes off of a target that had already been humiliated was a not the greatest of ideas. The establishment of this rule was explained during Draco's next actions; the blond lunged at Duo with a vengeful gleam in his eyes, and right after their bodies smashed into one another, both were sent tumbling into the pool.

The grumbling pair waded out of the pool, doing what they could to squeeze the excess water from their clothes or, in Draco's case, preserve what was left of his ever-dwindling modesty by pulling the material away from private areas that could possibly be ogled, most of which was below his waist. Oddly, both of them were bemoaning the state of their hair; Heero later suggested that it was simply an odd anomaly for the two to be in the same state at the same time, especially when they were so different. Either that, or they were rubbing off on each other. Privately, everyone hoped that it was the anomaly theory. Subconsciously, they realized a long time ago that Draco was getting rather brave with his cynical, rather snide comments about everything and anything; it was capped off when Draco openly defied Heero on freeing all the house-elves to avoid espionage and eventual infiltration.

"Look at this place, Heero!" Draco had demanded, waving his arms emphatically around the summer home. While it was in no way comparable to the enormous castle that housed the Malfoy Family for centuries, the estate was still rather large and expansive, including twelve bedrooms, a pool house, seven large bathrooms, a breakfast nook, a luncheon room, a dining room that could seat as many as twenty, a large music room, a moderately small ball room, an extensive library, two dens (supposedly, the reason for two dens was so the womenfolk could gather in one room to discuss gossip while the men could discuss their own private affairs), and a smoking room that Heero had converted into an office in an attempt to get his computer to work with full internet access with magic and willpower alone.

That is to say, it was a rather large house. "Do you think for a moment that anyone is going to have the bloody _time_ and sheer stubbornness to actually make an effort to clean this place? You're always busy tinkering with that stupid muggle device, Trowa and Quatre already have plans for the garden, and that's a part-time job as it is; Wufei's probably going to spending most of his time in the bloody library or doing whatever the hell else Wufei does to entertain himself, Duo has made it his personal mission to mugglify me, and I'm making it my personal mission to detour him from that disgusting concept as much as I can. No one is going to have time to clean and cook and make sure the grass doesn't overgrow on seventy acres of land, and spirit's know _I'm_ not going to even consider doing it.

"House-elves are loyal to their masters; they would rather kill themselves than to betray their own masters, and who the hell do you think _powers _the protection wards here? The house-elves stay. That's final," Draco finished off explosively, digging his grave further by finishing off with a rather disdainful, "Sprits, you can be such a paranoid git sometimes."

Later, Wufei confessed that he honestly thought that Draco was going to die, or worse. (After the fact, Draco eventually brought up the question of what could be worse than death, to which Trowa frankly replying, "Getting in that state courtesy Heero Yuy." Quatre thought this was a rather accurate assessment, even if Draco thought such opinions about friends were disturbing.) They all nervously laughed it off as being silly, but the thought had crossed all of their minds; Draco's, a little too late. The blond boy was just about to go into full panic mode when Duo stood up and applauded wildly with a lopsided grin on his face.

"What? With Hee-chan, you really have to stick to your guns to make a point because he's so stubborn," Duo said brightly. "'Course, you get points taken off for going as far as calling Hee-chan a git, but we'll strike that up as your typical need to insult at least three people a day." Duo paused thoughtfully. "Then again, you get those points back for sheer guts. That's probably the second bravest thing I've ever seen you do.(2)"

Heero, of course, couldn't understand why his casual shrug and an offhandedly stated, "If I see a house-elf acting suspicious, I reserve the right to use it for target practice," surprised everyone. The Japanese boy had _expected_ Draco to eventually lose his temper with him. The blond just wasn't the type to bite his tongue and sit quietly while something he disapproved of was seriously discussed.

"Only if I have veto right," Draco said dazedly, his brain having rebooted at the end of his previous rant. "I'll inform the house-elves about the matter."

The bullheaded approach was a tactical move few used when dealing with Heero Yuy; Duo was one of those brave few. It was the first time the pilots realized that Duo was probably rubbing off on Draco. They didn't even think to consider that, following the science they lived by when they weren't brewing potions or casting spells, each reaction had an equal and opposite reaction. That is, they hadn't considered it until Duo had exhibited some Draco-like qualities, though Duo's new character quirks were far more subtle and hidden behind his perfected goofy-Duo dissemble. Most of it was mild and mostly ignorable (to the relief of the four Gundam pilots and one Draco Black, who all thought it would be an awful nightmare if there were _two_ Draco Blacks in the world, with the _real_ Draco Black's excuse being that he didn't want to make the bloody effort of attempting to be better than someone who imitated him). Duo would pay more mind to his hair in attempt to braid it perfectly, which was a hefty feat for someone with as much hair as Duo. Duo had also become far more fashion consciences, foregoing his standard black and white with the occasional splash of red and updating his wardrobe to include more violets, indigo, blues, crimsons, and browns that complimented his fair skin (though he was attempting to tan a little, Great Britain's almost constant bleak overcast simply wouldn't allow it), his striking eyes, and his golden-tinged chestnut hair. Along with his sudden desire to look impeccable and livelier was a strong surge of vehemence about what was right and what was wrong, according to the morals of Duo Maxwell.

While sounding vaguely Dracoesque, Draco thought Duo's sudden shift in sticking to his ground was something the American picked up when he and Draco were kidnaped by Death Eaters only a few months prior, and Duo was forced to accept that he was the son of the most-feared Dark Lord the wizarding world had ever seen. Instead of wallowing over the fact that Lord Voldemort -He Who Must Not Be Named himself- was his father, Duo completely denounced everything and anything his so-called father stood for, all the while staring into the half-man, half-monster's unamused crimson eyes. As for the part where Voldemort was Duo's father... Keary Riddle never was; Duo Maxwell had always been. And that was all Duo had to say about it.

In fact, all of Duo's new quirks about clothes and appearance could be linked to that one significant revelation. The Dark Lord wore heavy black robes and looked more monster than man. Duo Maxwell could have subconsciously decided that he would do his best to make damn sure he'd never be anything like "the sperm donor." Draco couldn't know for sure, however; it wasn't like he was going to pry into Duo's affairs when he knew the American was a bit tetchy about the subject in the first place.

All of this, of course, occurred within only two weeks since the six of them left Hogwarts and moved into Draco's new home. Already, it was promising to be a rather eventful summer.

After Duo and Draco changed and primped, it was time for breakfast. Duo had already forgotten that Draco was the reason he had to take another shower in the first place, and Draco (in honor of the glorious miracle that was breathing, and how such a natural process of living could be hampered with a steel-like grip around his delicate neck a la Heero) decided to forgive and forget, as well; but, unlike Duo, he was keeping a list of names and offenses.

The morning of June 7th was a rather happy occasion for Heero, though few could tell the difference between his "happy" face and his "satisfied" face. He announced on no uncertain terms that he finally figured out what he was doing wrong.

"Oh, good," Duo said, relieved. "Does that mean you're not going to wear the spandex shorts anymore?"

Draco smirked behind the safety of the rim of his teacup at Heero's almost longsuffering expression. Apparently, Draco wasn't the only one who felt those ghastly things were a travesty in the face of fashion.

"I mean," Heero said, giving his unrepentantly grinning boyfriend a pointed look, "that I've found out how to get my laptop to work without using electricity and interfering with the wards in any way. After that, it was relatively simple to get us online wirelessly, with the help of a few innocuous satellites and the house-elves."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Okay. You've interested me. What language are you speaking, and how do house-elves help you?"

Meanwhile, Duo was positively giddy. "You got it to work? You _actually_ got it to work?" He laughed cheerfully and threw his arms around his boyfriend, taking a moment to peck him on the lips before he turned and attempted to plant his eager fingers all over a laptop he used to be jealous of for all the attention with which Heero lavished it. Interesting, how much almost an entire year spent without the glory of modern technology could do to a guy.

"You're a freakin' genius, Hee-chan!"

Heero, a single eyebrow raised, gently pried the laptop from Duo's eager hands and laid it open on the table, almost in front of Draco. "This is a computer; a laptop, to be specific, since computers generally require a lot more electronic devices that connect together through wires.

"A computer is a multi-functional muggle device; all the applications of a computer are too complex to go into at this time. Suffice to say, it minimizes effort and maximizes the appearance of whatever document or projection you are working on. One of the most famous uses of a computer," he added, pressing a black button at the topmost right corner of the keyboard, "is known as the Internet, or the World Wide Web."

"This is the part where things get fun," Duo added cheerfully.

Heero nodded with a small smile. "The Internet makes everything accessible to you. Any form of documentation, any references to even the vaguest concept can be found on the Web easily, once you get used to it. I've developed my own personal search engine that filters out specific things you _aren't_ looking for, and the encoding ensures that I'm untraceable as long as I keep the IP address bouncing from one location to the other randomly at five second intervals."

"Basically, all of this means Heero could rob a muggle bank from the comfort of his own computer, and he'd most likely get away with it while everyone goes about their business as usual," Duo translated wryly. "A couple of cents missing from over a million bank accounts would hardly go amiss, and anyone too anal to notice usually chalks it up as a clerical error. Which is illegal, so don't you dare do it just to prove you can, Hee-chan."

"Hn. I surpassed that level when I was eleven," Heero said with a shrug. "That's not even much of a challenge anymore."

"Okay," Draco said slowly, not quite comprehending but having a suspicious feeling he would be learning a lot about this muggle laptop. "And the house-elves help how, exactly?"

"You gave me the idea," Heero said. "You mentioned that house-elves power the wards that protect us from any intruders or attacks. I decided to see if I could have one of the house-elves do something similar to what they do with the wards, only I wanted the ward to be focused on a portable object; the laptop. The laptop itself is surrounded by a bubble that protects it from the disruptive power of the wards. After that, all I had to do was a little research to find out if there was anything that negates magical fields."

"Iron," Draco murmured, mostly to himself. Heero nodded and pointed at small strips of thin iron that had been meticulously attached at key points on the device itself.

"Iron and a little house-elf magic was all I really needed to get it working again," Heero replied. "How I managed to uplink to the Web is an entirely different story that I'm sure Duo would rather not hear about right now."

Duo grinned unrepentantly. "It works. Who am I to question the hows and whys?"

"There is one thing Yuy may want to consider," Wufei said solemnly. "We need to know what the Earth Sphere Alliance has on us. We need to know anything that was in the media, and hacking into that Peacecraft woman's computer is probably necessary, as well; just to be on the safe side."

Heero nodded sharply. "Already done, on all three accounts. I also took the liberty of hacking into the Preventers system to see if Lady Une had anything to say about us." He narrowed his eyes. "Did you know she has us listed on inactive duty due to extensive training?"

"I wouldn't doubt it if she wants to recruit us, which is probably why she's pushing for the warrants to be pulled," Quatre said thoughtfully. "Even more so now than ever; having five wizards on the Preventers' side would certainly be a great asset. We're pretty skilled in muggle military ways, but wielding magic is an element of surprise no one expects."

"It wouldn't have hurt for her to ask us what we wanted first," Duo grumbled. "What if I had the desire to become a crossdressing cabana boy somewhere tropical?"

Trowa chuckled. "I think the question that's on all of our minds now, Duo, is if you actually _do_ want to be a crossdressing cabana boy."

"Well, no, but that's not exactly my point, is it?"

"I have no idea what any of you are talking about," Draco announced haughtily. "Why do you have warrants out on you and for what? What's a Preventer? And who really considers someone your age on inactive duty to anything vaguely military -whatever the hell that is. Sounds like an Unspeakable, or an Auror."

Each Gundam pilot exchanged peculiar looks when Duo finally said, "You remember those giant, um, things that I piloted when Hee-chan and the guys came to rescue us from ol' Voldie's evil clutches?"

"Big hulking metal things," Draco confirmed with a nod. "Hollow on the inside, save for strange things I'm not even going to bother attempting to put a name to. What about them?"

"Well, they're war machines called Gundams," Duo said slowly. "They're the only five in existence, currently. Me and the guys fought in the name of the colonies back during the War to End All Wars."

Draco still appeared nonplused. "Oh... kay."

"Um," Duo said, tapping his chin with his finger thoughtfully. "Okay, you had to have known about the big chunk of metal that was quickly falling to Earth a couple of years ago? Huge thing, big enough to create a nuclear winter on Earth and kill billions?"

Yes! Finally, something that sounded familiar. Draco knew about that; it was something that happened in his fifth year when he and several of his yearmates were doing extra credit projects for Astronomy during the winter holiday. Something microscopic but vaguely humanoid had managed to maneuver in front of it just in time to wave a wand and make the metal thing blow up into harmless, tiny pieces. There was something in the Daily Prophet about it the next day, and it was explained away as some form of muggle experiment with new technology ("silly muggles and their silly tricks" the paper seemed to imply) while urging readers to not worry.

"I saw it," Draco said absently. "The Daily Prophet made it seem like some muggle thing that we shouldn't worry about. Something about muggles and their silly tricks."

Wufei snorted derisively. "Sounds like Maxwell's patent Pay No Mind To The Man Behind The Curtain Method."

Said Maxwell didn't acknowledge Wufei's sarcastic statement. "So you saw the Gundam that got in the way of that chunk of Libra and totally annihilated it, right?" Duo said, bouncing in his seat with a gleam in his eyes.

"Yes," Draco said slowly.

"That was Hee-chan. He saved everyone on Earth. We all had our parts, but Heero's the one who really pulled through and saved Earth. Now they kind of want us punished for war crimes, but we have some friends in high places that are trying to get that rectified."

Draco blinked. "You're... fugitives?"

"Well, technically," Duo said, shrugging, "yeah. But only in the muggle world. Since the muggle world has absolutely no dealings with the laws of the wizarding world, as long as we stick to the wizarding world and obey wizarding law, we're fine. That's why Lady Une and Zechs Marquise didn't arrest us when they came with Relena to visit Hogwarts that one time."

Draco stared at them for a moment before looking at Duo. "Ever since I met you, Duo, I've made the strangest friends. It's entirely your fault."

Duo preened. The blond shook his head. Of course he would be proud of himself. Duo didn't know any other way to be when it came to his chaos spreading.

Heero, with some so-called "help" from Duo, explained the basics of the muggle device through breakfast; despite his natural animosity against muggles and all things muggle related, he couldn't help but be intrigued by this device. Most of his interest fell along how this Internet thing worked. It seemed utilizing such a tool would be quite useful in lieu of reading so many books, especially when Heero found several things he called "websites" and "databases" that pulled up all the information about any known herb commonly used in potions or taken care of in Herbology if you simply typed the word in one of those slim white boxes. Potions, he had no problem with; it was Herbology that he hated reading the material for. This World Wide Whatever would be useful for his worst class, if he could somehow convince Heero to part with it.

Judging by the look on Heero's face, it was a request that was going to have to wait until the novelty of having a working laptop again wore off. Then again, judging by the mischief dancing playfully in Duo's eyes, it appeared that Heero would have to adapt quickly. He had the same look in his eyes when he attempted to change out Wufei's clothes with all of Draco's mother's dresses.

That was just another story that almost ended in tragic bloodshed.

_**END CHAPTER ONE**_

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**__**

(1) Yes, Wufei referred to Draco as Black. Confused? Well, you should have taken my suggestion and read the first installment. You still have time to turn back and read that one if you're unfamiliar with the plot that has already developed. :grins:

(2) The first bravest thing Draco had ever done in front of Duo was, of course, telling the Dark Lord to sod off with only a minimal bit of trembling. Or something to that effect. :grins:

Review, please! It flames the fire of my ego.


	2. The Shooting Peanut Gallery

**Author's Notes:** All of you lovely readers should probably thank FranceGamble (also known as Jojo) for this impromptu update because she asked for it, and I can't say no to my favorite Jojo. I was just going to be lazy and putoff finishingthis chapterfor a few more days.

**Author's Notes the Second:** And a fond birthday shout-out to Tado, who is responsible for many amusing and chaotic late night chat sessions with a variety of freaks and weirdos, and I'm glad I'm one of them. **_HAPPY FREAKIN' BIRTHDAY, YOU FREAK_**. (Even though I know you probably won't read this ON your birthday, seeing as you've already informed me you won't be available for chatting this weekend... It's the thought that counts, right?)

:_sighs_: I love Bobland. ONWARD!

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_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Two**_

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****

Compared to a typical day in the English countryside, the day had started off rather marvelous. So marvelous, in fact, that many of the residents of the Malfoy summer home (now belonging to the Blacks, thanks to a generous divorce settlement between Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black) decided very early on in the morning that such was a day not to be wasted indoors. Heero, of course, was perhaps the only one amongst them that preferred to re-immerse himself in the glory of his laptop, which had been out of commission for far too long. The rest, however, realized that if any day was worth taking advantage of the estate's vast grounds, this was the day. While there was still an oppressive overcast in the noon sky, the grey cloud cover didn't blanket the surrounding area. Sunbeams broke through the clouds in the distance, making for a very breathtaking scene to those who weren't accustomed to Great Britain's unique beauty. According to Heero (courtesy of aforementioned laptop and the use of wireless Internet), the day could only get better, as the clouds were supposed to thin out by early afternoon.

Trowa and Quatre decided to use the day wisely by finally getting to work on the beautiful gardens that surrounded the manor. Draco had quite a taxing time attempting to hide his amusement as Quatre conferred with the house-elves typically responsible for the welfare of the gardens and lawn; apparently, Quatre hadn't prepared for the elves habit of self-harm when they thought they were displeasing their masters, which was exactly what happened when Quatre voiced an interest in taking over the gardens. Duo had to actually bite his knuckles to keep from laughing as the genteel blonde frantically attempted to placate a house-elf who'd taken it upon herself to slam her ears in the kitchen door. Both of them immediately stopped feeling so amused and started feeling a little paranoid when Trowa shot them a warning glance. For someone who didn't say much and seemed rather emotionless, he certainly knew how to get his point across by just looking at people.

Wufei had taken an open space of his own to practice sword and martial arts katas, which Draco couldn't help but admit looked really neat. Martial arts was mostly a muggle concept, and fencing was practiced by most of the wealthy in the wizarding world. Fencing, however, was a little different than what Wufei practiced. Draco admired the fluid grace of the practiced movements, amazed that someone so stiff and upright in demeanor could move so quickly and gracefully. Putting a sword in the Chinese youth's hands added an extra element of danger and debonair. If Wufei hadn't thought so little of women in general, he would probably get a lot more attention from girls merely by showing them how bloody wicked he looked during his katas.

Duo, however, decided to kidnap Draco for his own personal amusement.

"I don't _want_ to."

"Don't be such a baby, dragon boy. C'mon -don't you want to have the element of surprise if any Death Eater comes across you?"

"Of course I do. But not this."

Duo made a couple of loud noises that sounded suspiciously like a chicken's call.

"I'm _not_ a chicken." Draco was absolutely petulant now, pouting at the ground sullenly.

"Then take the damn gun, point, and shoot. It's not that hard, and it's not like I'm expecting you to actually hit the target at all. This is just for practice."

Draco shot the American a typical acidic glare that marked prolonged exposure to Heero Yuy himself. "It's nice to know you have such confidence in me."

"Hey, hitting targets right off takes years of practice and a certain amount of talent."

"I'm a damn good aim with a wand. What makes you think I wouldn't be a good aim with this muggle wand?"

"Gun."

"Whatever. The point is, I could hit the target if I wanted. I can't actually _look_ at the gun without seeing Jansen's head blow up." Draco cringed at the swell of memories that the mere mention of past events, specifically the frighten of learning that something that something so small and innocuous as a 'bullet' could do that much damage with the added benefit of 'gun powder' and a 'kick-ass .44 Magnum', quoting Duo. The most frightening part of that ordeal was when he had finally realized that something that made Jansen's head explode in a spray of crimson and... Draco immediately stopped that train of thought, afraid that he was going to do something potentially embarrassing, like vomit. In any case, the same device that did _that_ to the Death Eater had been pressed lightly against his temple by none other than Duo Maxwell himself, and Draco had realized there was a lot more to the Gryffindor besides a goofy smile and a wicked sense of humor.

Duo was like a friendly snake amongst the lions. Snakes in general were loners, but Duo was in a class all of his own. He was easily pleased and quite congenial when he didn't feel threatened, but as soon as Duo was put in a situation that forced him to act, all the sly fierceness of his instincts came to the foreground.

Duo shrugged unsympathetically. "Sometimes you just gotta find a way around that, man. If I stressed over every death I'm responsible for, I wouldn't get much done during the day. Besides, we're trying to prevent you from ever being put in that situation again. Next time you can be my backup instead of my hostage."

"Your logic astounds and disturbs me," Draco said mordantly, glaring at the offensive heavy black metal hanging limply from his hand. "If I shoot at the target and get a perfect hit, can we drop this entirely?"

Duo didn't seem as confident in Draco's ability as Draco himself was, but he took a moment to critically assess the distance between the blond and the large target set out nearly thirty feet away. From a logical standpoint, the target would have been easy for Duo or any one of the pilots. For a first-time shooter, however, it was a completely different story. Dragon boy really didn't stand a chance. "Knock yourself out, scooter. Point is, you're going to learn how to shoot that thing."

Duo quickly set about teaching Draco how to brace himself for the kick of the Magnum so the blond wouldn't find himself suddenly sprawled painfully on his derriere. "You'll need to pull back on the hammer -that's this nifty little thing here," he added, pointing at the butt of the barrel. "You'll use your thumb for that. If you actually take to this whole gun thing, I'll probably let you use an automatic, but for now, you'll have to do with a semi. Anyway, clasp the grip of the gun tightly with both hands."

"You only used one," Draco mumbled, adjusting his grip on the gun nervously, trying to comfortably fit his hands around the foreign muggle weapon.

"Yeah, but I've been playing with guns a lot longer than you," Duo pointed out logically, reaching out to help adjust Draco's grip so the process of actually raising and firing the gun would feel a little more natural. "I know how to absorb the kick better than you. Remember to keep a _firm_ grip, and keep your feet exactly like they are now. It'll help brace your body when you fire." As an afterthought, Duo added hastily, "And when I used the word 'playing', I didn't mean it in a fun way. Guns aren't toys, and if I ever see you treating them as such, I'll kick your ass from here to Hogwarts. Clear, dragon boy?"

Draco snorted. Like he needed to be told that guns weren't things to be played with. Things that killed people rarely were. "Crystal, hamster boy."

"Good. The disclaimer is there to protect the stupid and any unfortunate people who fall pray to stupidity. Let's hope that never applies to you." Duo smothered a grin when Draco shot him a vaguely disgusted glance. "Now I don't want you to just point and pull the trigger; you'll never even get close to the target that way. Instead, I want you to sight down the barrel, focus on your target, and pull the trigger only after you think you have a good shot."

Wufei's sudden appearance behind the two stopped whatever snide comment Draco would have delivered. "You're teaching him how to use a firearm?"

"Yep," Duo said cheerfully, hardly paying any attention to the disbelief oozing from Wufei's sharp address.

"You think _that_ is a good way to introduce Black to muggle culture? By teaching him how to use a gun?"

"Well, no," Duo replied, glancing at the Chinese youth blandly. "I wanted to see if Draco could actually pick this up as a hobby, so next time..." The braided youth trailed off at that point, appearing slightly pensive and bitter.

Draco didn't exactly need it spelled out for him. Duo knew that his actions during the sudden hostage moment had given Draco a fair amount of nightmares. The sheer helplessness of the situation didn't sit well with the blond, and having his life solely in the hands of a boy who obviously had no qualms in making sacrifices wasn't exactly comforting at the time. Duo was a great and loyal friend, but the American was relentless when the situation called for it. Draco expected that Duo might have been feeling guilty over what happened, and his attempts to teach Draco how to use the same weapon that was pressed against his temple months ago was an attempt to alleviate that guilt. Something about conquering and mastering the things one fears -Draco hadn't really been listening to Duo's reasoning, as he had completely lost interest after hearing the words 'teach' and 'gun' in the same sentence.

"Don't worry about it, Wufei," Draco said smugly. "Duo's promised to drop the entire matter if I can hit the target on my first try. I intend to make that a reality."

Wufei seemed to have about as much confidence in Draco's ability to achieve that goal as Duo had been, which irked the blond immensely. The Chinese boy looked from where Draco was standing to the target with an eyebrow raised skeptically. "From here?"

"Yes," Draco said shortly, glaring at Wufei with a challenging jut of his chin.

Wufei smirked, pointing at the painted red, white, and blue bullseye set in the distance. "_That_ target?"

"You don't think I can do it," Draco accused.

Duo laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Of course we think you can't do it, Draco! You've never held a gun in your life. Very rarely do people actually make a bullseye the first time, and those people generally have an interest in guns to begin with."

"Maxwell's right, Black," Wufei said with absolute certainty. "Taking into consideration that this is not only the first time you've held a gun, but your knowledge of them comes solely from one instance in which you were at the wrong end of one, the logical conclusion is that you cannot possibly hope to hit the bullseye."

_That_ was not only a blow to his dignity, but a clear insult of his abilities. "And I don't suppose you two would be willing to make a wager on that."

Duo and Wufei looked at each other; the American looked tempted to burst out laughing, and Wufei didn't even attempt to hide his amusement.

"You're joking, right?" Duo said, his lips quivering with suppressed mirth that glittered brightly in his eyes.

"On the contrary, I'm completely serious," the blond rebuffed confidently. "If by some extremely bad stroke of luck I should miss that target, I'll owe each of you a favor of your choice with no limitations as long as it doesn't require me to break the law. However, _when_ I hit that target, each of you will owe me a favor. No protests, no excuses, and no questioning over my absolute authority."

"Oh, this is gonna be good," Duo said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "Already, so many wicked, wicked things come to mind. Prepare for complete degradation, Black."

Draco smirked. "Is that an acceptance, Maxwell?"

"Of course it is!" Duo laughed gaily. "How many opportunities like this comes across a guy in a lifetime? Not enough!"

"I believe I shall take you up on that wager as well, Black," Wufei said smugly, confident that the chance of a first-time shooter hitting something dead-center at such a distance was astronomical.

"Yo!" Duo waved wildly, facing back toward the manor. Trowa and Quatre appeared to have decided to finally begin their remodeling of the garden. "Quat! Tro! Get the omnioculars from my room and drag Heero down here! You won't believe what dragon boy's pulling now!"

"Your strings, as you'll soon be my personal puppet," Draco murmured snidely as he watched Quatre, in the distance, turn to Trowa questioningly before Trowa went back inside, supposedly to do as Duo requested. Meanwhile, Quatre was making his way toward them, most likely to hear the story first.

Duo had the audacity to laugh. "Seriously, Draco. While your overconfident brat-like ego is exactly what I like about you most of the time, it's really going to get you in trouble one of these days."

Draco raised a single eyebrow pointedly. "And your frequent mistake of favoring muggle war tactics to wizarding ones is going to get you into trouble one day, Duo. This," he said, pointing the gun away from Duo and lifting the muggle weapon up slightly, "runs out of those bullet things eventually. A wand doesn't fail until you're dead."

"What makes you think I haven't already realized that?" Duo said with a lopsided grin. "Usually when you're off avoiding human contact completely, me and the guys gather and work on homework while discussing various ways we can apply both tactics to whichever war situation."

"Learning the same would, in fact, be wise of you, Black," Wufei added. "Not only will you have the element of surprise should you ever come into battle, but think of how well you could potentially defend yourself and escape until a better solution comes along should your wand ever be taken from you or broken. There's also a chance that, should you find yourself amongst muggles, you can use a firearm to protect yourself without breaking any wizarding laws.(1) Teaching you how to use muggle weapons is actually a good idea, despite what one would consider from Maxwell."

"Should I be insulted?" Duo said dryly right before he turned and cheerfully greeted Quatre.

"Too bad you weren't here earlier," Duo said cheerfully to the bemused Winner heir. "You could have talked some sense into Draco before his mouth wrote a check that his tooshie can't cash."

"Toos- what are you, five?" Draco demanded, offended that Duo would describe his perfect arse in any way as demeaning as "tooshie."

Duo obviously ignored him. "Dragon boy here thinks he can shoot that bullseye from here on his first try. When he loses, Wufei and I get to do whatever we want with him." The braided boy rubbed his hands together maniacally once more. "Victory is gonna be so sweet."

Quatre looked at Draco with genuine interest. "Really, Draco? You're really confident you can do that?"

Despite Quatre's disgustingly Hufflepuff nature, Draco found the wide-eyed honesty in Quatre's teal eyes very refreshing in the face of Wufei and Duo's obvious skepticism. Quatre Winner was another one of those rare few who belonged in another house while, despite all outward appearances of complete honesty and concern for the well-being of others, displayed some rather Slytherinesque qualities. The realization had taken quite a bit of time to strike the former Malfoy heir, but a week spent living in close quarters with the Hufflepuff had cemented the realization. True, Quatre was nice and trustworthy -two aspects a Slytherin would never display publically- but he was sly, quick, and knew his way around strategy. Another friendly snake, but in this case, amongst sheep instead of lions.(2)

"Of course I can," Draco said, ignoring Duo's silent laughter and Wufei's amused snort. "It's these gits who are going to be eating crow."

Quatre shook his head in response to the others' reactions to Draco's confidence. "I wouldn't be so cocky, guys. A gun might be very different from a wand, but Draco has impeccable aim otherwise."

Quatre was his new favorite best friend. Then again, anyone willing to stroke his ego almost instantly skyrocketed to the top of his list. Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Draco's attention away from mentally changing the list of favorite best friends, and he turned to spot Trowa and Heero walked toward them, a pair of omnioculars grasped in Trowa's hand.

"Yeah, but the recoil and the distance change everything," Duo pointed out. "There's no way he could possibly do it. That's what makes this so glorious."

"There's no way who could possibly do what?" Trowa asked, handing the omnioculars to Duo in passing.

"Duo and Wufei don't think Draco can hit that target at this distance on his first shot," Quatre explained. Draco especially liked the way Quatre decided to word that in his favor, whether it was intentional or not.

"You can't tell me you honestly think he can!" Wufei said in disbelief.

"I think there's always a chance he could do it," Quatre reminded Wufei quietly. "Ignorance doesn't prove incompetence, you know."

Draco watched Heero closely throughout the conversation, amused when he saw Trowa look towards the quiet Japanese Slytherin with a slightly raised eyebrow, as if he was silently asking Heero a question without giving away his inquiry in so many words. Heero's reply was short and barely noticeable as he simply shook his head with minimal movement. When Trowa and Heero chose not to say anything in or against Draco's favor, the blond was just that more pleased about how well everything was playing out.

"I guess there's only one way to know for sure, and that requires dragon boy to strut his stuff," Duo said cheerfully, giving Draco a wide birth. "Have at it, Draco. But before you do, I gotta know if you can fit into your mom's dresses."

Draco gave the grinning American an unamused glance as he carefully corrected his stance. "Do I honestly want to know?"

"You'll see," Duo said smugly.

Draco hated how Duo was beginning to sound more and more like _him_ during moments of superior certainty. No one should have been able to pull off such a perfect mixture of sincere smugness expect for Draco himself. _No one_.

_Maybe this is why, instead of amusing him like I do now, Harry always found me a tad bit irritating. I know it bugs me when Duo starts leaking the superiority complex,_ Draco mused, only to immediately disregard that notion. Harry was just a poor Gryffindor Boy Wonder who hadn't noticed the signs of Draco's obvious transcendency until recently. Landing Harry as his unofficial boyfriend only served to further prove his point.

Much to Draco's chagrin, he couldn't suppress the sudden smile that tilted the corners of his mouth at the thought of Harry Potter. Once the bane of his existence, a tentative comradery sprouted between Hogwarts most notorious rivals during the Yule holiday of their sixth year. Coincidentally, Duo was the one to blame for the tolerance between Harry and Draco in the first place; Draco had a suspicious feeling that if not for Duo making light of Draco's attitude problem (though Draco didn't see how his attitude could have been a problem in the first place, seeing as how everything he said was true), Harry wouldn't be nearly as easy-going towards Draco as he was now. The Gryffindor Golden Boy certainly wouldn't have taken the measure of initiating some form of romantic relationship with the tarnished Slytherin Prince.

Draco wanted to maliciously stomp all over the butterflies that suddenly began to flutter wildly in his stomach as he remembered exactly _how_ Harry had decided to go about initiating a relationship in the first place. It wasn't a perfect first kiss by any means of the word. (Draco was adamant in his belief that the Dementor's Kiss didn't count as a first kiss, seeing as those tended to result in the loss of one's soul, and his was still intact, no matter how much the Weasel insisted someone had to have a soul to remove for the Dementor's Kiss to be effective. The former Malfoy heir always sulked when Duo would say, all in good humor, "Whatever helps you sleep at night, man.") For one thing, the kiss had been executed in the _baggage car_ of the bloody Hogwarts Train. The _baggage car_! If that wasn't a sign from the Fates that such a relationship was bound to come with a lot of baggage of the emotional variety, Draco would eat Duo's braid. And Draco wouldn't put that annoying "fifth limb" anywhere near his mouth, which only further proved the absolute certainty that they weren't exactly meant to be a perfect couple. For another thing, Harry had used the kiss as a way to shut Draco up, which wasn't really good for his ego at all. (Though he wasn't about to complain about it at all.)

On the other hand...

The kiss _had_ been perfect. He always imagined that Harry would be terrible when it came to kissing, if only because the Boy Wonder wasn't exactly known for his skills in that department. The way the kiss itself made Draco feel was... _alive_. On top of the world. Abso-bloody-lutely fan-fucking-tastic. _In spades_. The mere memory of it always made Draco's day seem a little more tolerable, and even if he abhorred romantic sap of any nature... Well, that was how it was. Harry made Draco feel nice. "Nice" in a content way because spirits forbid if Draco had the urge to help a Hufflepuff in distress.

So what if Harry and Draco weren't The Perfect Couple? Yes, there were a lot of differences between them; some would say too many. Harry had muggleborn friends, held the common plebeians in high regards, and thought the world of truth, justice, and goodwill toward man. Draco thought the wizarding world could do without muggleborns, thought very little of the poor and worthless, and visibly gagged in contempt whenever such ridiculous notions like "truth" and "peace" were brought up. In fact, probably one of the only things the two had in common were they're surprisingly quick tempers, and that common factor wasn't exactly how healthy relationships flourished. They're relationship was doomed to fail before it would even start.

However, when Draco removed himself from the situation and took the time to step back and consider all the facts, no relationship was perfect. People had their differences and, honestly, if Harry had been exactly like the former Malfoy heir, Draco wouldn't find him attractive in the least. All relationships put to the test had the chance of going awry, and just because Draco and Harry were so very different didn't necessarily mean they had worse odds than anybody else as long as they tried to make it work.

That sounded a bit too optimistic for Draco, much to his mortification.

_Gah! I have plenty of time to think about Harry later. Focus on achieving my goal now,_ Draco thought to himself, shaking himself from his momentary reprieve. He firmed his stance and, both hands cradling the warm metal under his palms and fingers, lifted the muggle firearm to eye level. He sighted the target in the distance carefully; at this point, there was no room for stupid mistakes. With a deep, cleansing breath and a small prayer to the spirits, Draco pulled back on the hammer, realigned his sight, and promptly pulled the trigger.

The end of the barrel exploded, the shot echoing ominously across the gently rolling hills that were abundant on the Black Family summer estate.

Heero Yuy lowered the omnioculars with a satisfied smirk. "Well done."

"What?" Duo yelped, snatching the omnioculars from his boyfriend. Draco was absolutely ecstatic to see the dawning amazement on the other boy's face when he replayed the shot in slow motion. "Well, I'll be damned... Bullseye!"

Once reviewing the proof, Wufei started cursing coarsely under his breath in what Draco assumed was his native language. "How did you...?"

"Good job, Draco," Quatre said innocently, the smile on his face genuinely congratulatory.

"Your first mistake," Trowa said lightly, looking at his two flabbergasted friends in mild amusement, "was assuming that this is the first time Draco has fired a gun."

Duo blinked. "You mean..." The American turned to look at his smirking boyfriend incredulously. "Heero!"

The Japanese boy shrugged nonchalantly. "The dungeons have proven to be an excellent place to set up a rigorous training facility. Draco expressed an interest when I brought up the idea to him, and I decided that letting him give it a test run would be prudent, as well as a simple way to gauge the difficulty level of the course. Draco proves to be an excellent aspiring marksman."

"And you didn't tell me?" Duo exclaimed wildly, throwing his hands up in the air to further emphasize his point.

"Trowa knew," Heero pointed out. "I'd assumed you would have realized that my time hasn't been entirely focused on you and getting my laptop to work. You just never asked."

"Your second mistake," Trowa added, "was bumptiousness. Duo, didn't you once tell us you'd never underestimate a pureblood wizard after you and Draco were kidnaped?"

Duo grinned sheepishly.

"The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence(3)," Wufei murmured, sounding disgusted. "Cao..."(4)

Draco smirked, handing the gun off to Heero. "You know, despite my misgivings about the whole learn-how-to-use-muggle-weaponry thing, I'm beginning to realize that learning new things isn't necessarily bad, even if the things I'm learning do pertain to muggles. In any case... Congratulations, boys. From here until I call my favors, I now officially _own_ you."

"You tricked us," Wufei accused. "You planned this all along!"

"Now, now, Wufei," Duo said gaily. "You have to admit, that was a damn good shot. Draco played us right into his hands. Very Slytherin tactic, dragon boy. I'm impressed." And the American proceeded to clap his hands together enthusiastically in a show of applause.

"Your useless platitudes won't lessen your humiliation for when I execute my diabolical plot," Draco said smugly, enjoying Duo's sullen expression as the one-man applause immediately died. "But thanks for taking the time to stroke my ego, even if you were just doing it to get out of our wager."

"Don't mention it," Duo groused. The American sighed, admitting defeat by asking wearily, "So what's on the Humiliate Duo Agenda? At least console me by saying Wufei will have it worse."

"Shut up, Maxwell," the Chinese youth snapped.

"It doesn't even have to be true," Duo amended, "just as long as you consol me by saying it is."

Draco decided to humor Duo just this once. "Okay, Duo. I'll lie to you and say Wufei is going to have it worse."

Duo nodded miserably. "Not as comforting as I'd hoped, but thanks for trying. So what's your plan?"

Draco smirked. In retrospect, crossing one's arms and lifting one's eyebrow in faint amusement wasn't the best way to attempt innocence, but to be fair, Draco never was one for innocence. "What makes you think I already have something planned?"

Duo gave him a blank look. "Because you're Draco effin' Black, and you plot your evil schemes in advance."

"True," Draco murmured, nodding. "I don't think I'm going to tell you yet. But rest assured, Duo, it'll be particularly... entertaining. Well, perhaps not for you."

"God forbid should I derive any pleasure from having to follow your word to the letter," Duo mumbled sullenly. "I hope you know, Heero, I'm blaming you."

Heero lifted a single eyebrow, as if to say, "Like I held a gun to your head and forced you to make a bet with Draco, who already knows his way around a gun thanks to me." Heero's expressions tended to imply an awful lot for such a simple manipulation of muscles.

Draco chuckled wickedly. Oh, victory was so sweet.

_**END CHAPTER TWO**_

* * *

**__**

**(1) You can take the boy out of the military, but you can't take the military out of the boy. :_inhales deeply_: Ah, breathe deep the taint of war...**

**(2) Yes, Draco's fully aware that the animal representing Hufflepuff is a badger; then again, Draco doesn't think highly of most Hufflepuffs, so he _would_ probably refer to them as sheep.**

**(3) ... Damn you, Samuel L. Jackson, for voice-acting on The Boondocks and constantly quoting your old movies, much to the benefit of my amusement...**

**(4) :_shock_: Wufei! You vulgarian. :_grins_: It's Mandarin. I'll give you a hint. Four letters, sounds like truck. If you haven't guessed it by now, starts with F.**


	3. A Summary of Life, According To Draco

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm rather surprised that, for a chapter that gave me so much trouble to begin with, it only took meten days to post it. Let's hope the trend continues, shall we? I know I am. :grins sheepishly:**

**As always, thanks to all my reviewers. You guys all rock my socks in the best of ways! Now... Once more, into the brig!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Three**_

* * *

_13 July, AC 197_

_Harry,_

_I feel as if I am confined in a mad house with five dangerous  
__lunatics._

_I suppose that is not the best way to start a letter to one's  
__boyfriend, but there is simply no better way to accurately  
__describe my utter vexation with the five aforementioned lunatics  
__with whom I now live. The pitiful part is that, despite the fact  
__they are dangerous lunatics, they really mean well._

_I suppose that is why I haven't spiked their tea with lethal  
__doses of belladonna yet. However, it's on the list._

_Before I get too riled up in the details of What These Idiots  
__Have Done Now, I would like to point out that I would apologize  
__for taking so long in replying to your last letter, but I feel  
__deep within my very soul (and yes, despite what Weasley would say  
__to the contrary, I have one) that it is not my fault. All  
__responsibility of my very late reply rests solely on -you guessed  
__right- the Mad Five. Oddly enough, every time I refer to them as  
__the Mad Five to their faces, Duo tends to feel a little nostalgic  
__and wistfully claims that Pestilence would be "so very proud." I  
__don't know what he's talking about, either; frankly, I don't  
__care. The point is, perhaps you should bring it up to Duo  
__whenever you write him again. I hope you make him feel contrite,  
__but knowing you, I doubt you could manage it. Making people feel  
__bad isn't exactly your style._

_Then again, I am almost certain that four of the Mad Five are  
__completely impenetrable when it comes to being bombarded with  
__guilt trips. I wouldn't try it with Quatre, though; his boyfriend  
__wouldn't appreciate the gesture. (And I hate that Trowa can still  
__scare me with a single expressionless look. I hate I hate I  
__hate.)_

_Needless to say, it has been a rather hectic two weeks._

_Deviating from my original rant, I simply must know if what Duo  
__says is true. He claims that all muggles know how to remove  
__bloodstains from any material of clothing of any color just as  
__well as their maths and alphabet. Something to do with bleach and  
__elbow grease. Personally, it sounds like a disease._

(In the margin beside the above paragraph, in a another shade of ink and a script that was vastly different from Draco's own carefully crafted cursive, was a hastily scrawled "You smell like a disease!" One could only assume that such an impromptu addition was made after the letter itself had been completed, and someone had felt remarkably Slytherin enough to read Draco's letter before the blond had time to send it. Popular consensus believed that Duo was at fault here.)

_In any case, my irritation with the group as a total did not  
__start with one Duo Maxwell during this particular period, whereas  
__Duo is usually the culprit of my irritation. Not long after I  
__sent you the letter before this one, I retired downstairs to make  
__use of the library when, much to my horror, I stumbled across  
__Heero knocking holes in my walls._

_Literally. On both accounts._

----------

Draco's journey to the library to finish a book he'd recently found on dark magic not yet classified as forbidden by the Ministry of Magic (though the book had been written in the eighteenth century and much had changed since that time) was abruptly halted when the blond tripped over some metal box that someone had carelessly left lying in the middle of the floor.

"Ow! Bloody he–who left this here?" Draco demanded loudly, looking around for the perpetrator. When no one had come forth to claim the responsibility -Draco hadn't really expected much, as the room appeared deserted- he took a moment to inspect the metal box. The lid was open, revealing odd objects that Draco couldn't possibly put a name to; oh, he recognized the hammer well enough, so it was probably safe to say that the objects in the tin box were tools of some kind, and most likely muggle in origin.

"Who could possibly need tools, and for what?" Draco mused.

"I do." The blond stifled a yelp and whirled around, finding Heero standing in the doorway of the living room. The Japanese boy walked further into the room and quickly selected the hammer and a pronged tool with a black handle and a metal spike that flattened out at the end. "I hadn't intended to level these tools in the middle of the floor. Duo wanted my attention and, as usual, he made it sound urgent."

Draco smothered a smirk. Once again, Duo had used his superior acting skills to drag Heero away from his original task. Knowing Duo, the reason for Heero's attention most likely involved something sexual in nature. It wasn't the _first_ time Duo had taken Heero away for a supposedly innocent private chat. The rather fresh hickey glaring at Draco from Heero's exposed neck only proved it.

"Understandable," Draco replied, watching in interest as Heero kneeled down directly in front of a wall. The Japanese Slytherin placed the pronged tool against the wall and held it in place as he lifted the hammer.

It only took one solid thwack with the hammer, the pronged tool breaking through the wall, for Draco to go from curious to absolutely beside himself in incredulous anger.

"What are you _doing_?" Draco shrieked, finally shaking himself from the shock of seeing Heero carelessly knock holes in the wall as if this were a normal, everyday occurrence.

"Installing electricity," Heero replied, not even hesitating as he delicately continued the procedure of putting a hole in the wall with the use of the flathead screwdriver and the hammer.

Draco wanted to scream. "Electricity!"

"I asked you about it three days ago."

"You didn't tell me adhering to your silly muggle whims would involve you putting _holes in the wall_, Heero!"

Heero paused to look at Draco with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't ask what installing electricity would entail."

"Because common sense dictates that you inform me of things that involve a drastic remodeling of my home!"

Heero gave Draco a peculiar look. "I would hardly call installing a couple of outlets anything as strongly as a 'drastic remodeling', Draco. And if I remember correctly, when I asked you about installing electricity in the first place, you made it quite clear you didn't even want to know how or why, just as long as I didn't explain it to you."

Draco mentally cursed his lack of patience with Heero when the subject was brought up. He'd endured far too much information about muggles from his five friends; if allowing Heero to install this electricity thing without knowing too much about the process in which that entailed, he was only too happy to let Heero do whatever the hell he wanted. In hindsight, his forced ignorance on the matter was a bad call. If he had known the extent Heero had to go to in order to have electricity at the manor, he would have probably immediately vetoed the idea no matter what excuse Heero came up with his need for it.

Now it was too little, too late, and Draco would have to allow Heero to continue what he started.

That didn't mean he couldn't complain about it. "Why do you need electricity, anyway? I thought you were getting along just fine with magic!"

"I'm afraid constantly recharging my laptop by way of magic will wear on the circuitry faster than normal," Heero replied simply, pounding the handle of the screwdriver with the hammer again. With a few good hits, the blunt, flat edge of the screwdriver pierced through the wall. "Duo's stereo started malfunctioning a few days ago. When I took it apart to see what was wrong with it, the circuitry appeared as if it had been slowly cooked from the inside. Magic just isn't very compatible with technology, no matter how many times we attempt to substitute through magical means."

Fabulous.

----------

_So now the manor has electricity. As much as I hate to admit, I  
__barely realize the holes are even there. These "outlet" things  
__seem to blend into the wall remarkably well. However, if I had  
__been completely aware of what having electricity would mean to  
__Duo's plot to (and I quote) "advance the insidious liberal  
__agenda," I would have had one more reason to staunchly veto the  
__installation completely._

_The insidious liberal agenda of which Duo speaks happens to be  
__his own personal mission to make me a little more tolerant of  
__muggles. I didn't quite understand how Duo was going to further  
__this agenda with what little materials he has to work with, but  
__apparently he's found some hidden websight over the internet that  
__is wizard friendly. Imagine my surprise when twelve owls  
__delivered a rather large package to the manor, alongside two  
__smaller packages. Duo later informed me that these strange muggle  
__devices are called a telivision, a data disk player, and data  
__disks that he calls "movies."_(1)

_Whatever that means._

----------

"So basically, this is a lot like that digital thing Quatre got for you on Christmas?"

"Digital disc player. And kind of," Duo hedged, hanging the strangely flat muggle invention on the wall and standing back to inspect his handiwork. "The digital discs that you use with a digital disc player wouldn't be at all compatible with a data disc player, which only plays data discs."

Draco stared at him, nonplused. It all sounded like the same thing; he didn't see why everything couldn't work with everything else when it _all sounded like the same thing_. "Okay. Explain why that is."

"Digital disc players are portable so no matter where you are, if you're in for a bit of a wait, you can pull it out and instantly be entertained. For that, they had to make the discs fit to size." The American began rummaging through one of the smaller boxes, pulling out a slim, rectangular box with a wildly colorful picture of an eccentric-looking man in a purple top hat. After expertly tearing away the slim, clear covering that wrapped the box, he found the grooved corner and pulled; the box almost split in two with a "snap!" The only thing that held the box together was one of the longer sides.

Now that he thought about it, it kind of worked like a book.

"This round disc here," Duo pointed at the aforementioned disc resting safe in the center, "is a data disc. The simplest why I could possibly explain it to you without getting too much into mechanics is that a data disc couldn't possibly fit in a digital disc player. Likewise, a digital disc is too small to fit in a data disc player. Make sense?"

"Muggles make things entirely too complicated," Draco murmured, shaking his head.

Duo snickered, snapping the box closed in his hands and lying them on a corner table before going about fiddling with the cord things in the back, poking some of the cords from the data disc thing (which was bigger than what Draco remembered of the digital disc player) into the back of the almost flat box with the black screen that Duo called a "flat-screen television."

"Oh, but the end result is going to rock your socks, dragon boy," Duo said with a rather bright gleam in his eyes. "Now that we have all the ingredients, we're going to have a movie night."

"Movie night?" Draco murmured questioningly.

Duo didn't embellish. Instead, he finally came to his feet and reached for the slim box that contained the data disc he'd used as an example. Upon studying the cover, a wide grin of glee split his face.

Draco wasn't exactly comforted by the appearance of such a devious grin. "What is it?"

Duo looked up with glee, quipping quirkily, "There's nothing like a prize than a SUR-prise, heh-heh!" Without another word, he quickly turned his back to the confused former Malfoy heir and bounded away with a skip to his step, calling out for anyone to hear, "Oi! We're watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight!"

Somewhere behind Draco, he could hear Quatre, sounding defeat, murmur the words, "Oh, dear..."

Draco turned to look at the weary-looking blond, slightly paranoid. "What?"

"Well, it's just that Duo likes to replace all the characters' names with people he knows," Quatre replied tiredly. "I'm always Charlie Bucket, Trowa and Wufei are always Oompa Loompas, Heero is Mike Teevee, _Duo_, of course, likens himself to Willy Wonka... and I'm afraid he finally found someone to be his version of Veruca Salt."

Draco blinked. "Who?"

----------

_I am nothing like Veruca bloody Salt. Nothing. Her arse was  
__thrown down a garbage shoot by a bunch of rodents; I wouldn't  
__have put myself in such a foolish situation in the first place,  
__as I have no desire to own a trained rat like a common plebe! Her  
__father certainly wasn't anything like Lucius, either!_

_On this "movie" thing overall, I would have to say my theory  
__about the inner psyche of muggles has finally been proven.  
__They're all barking mad._

_In all truth, Trowa doesn't bother me as much as the others save  
__for one thing. You, of all people, should know how much it  
__irritates me to hold my tongue for the sake of anyone. Curbing my  
__desire to voice my opinion, no matter how scathing it may be, has  
__never been much of an option for me. It's simply not the way my  
__mother raised me to be, but Trowa can scare me better than Heero  
__Yuy ever could. Oh, he's a great friend and a worthy Slytherin,  
__but when it comes to protecting his angel from scorn, Trowa knows  
__how to convey an inevitable retaliation with just a glance, and  
__not a promisingly bloodless retaliation, either. It's the only  
__thing that consistently irritates me that I'll probably have to  
__learn to live with, and that's just not how I operate, damn it  
__all._

_Then again, I find myself less and less disapproving of Quatre's  
__character as a whole, no matter how much of a true Hufflepuff he  
__is. It seems like Quatre is the only one that almost takes me  
__seriously on a day-by-day occasion, and it's remarkably  
__refreshing. His earnest goodwill and positive outlook on  
__everything under the sun works for him because, unlike most  
__Hufflepuffs, he has the charisma to inspire people to think the  
__way he thinks and the tenacity to stay dedicated to creating a  
__safer, peaceful, and fair world for everyone, be they pureblood  
__or muggle, rich or poor. Things like that usually disgust me  
__because I honestly do not believe that's how the world should be,  
__but Quatre knows exactly what to say to make his hopes become a  
__reality. It's sort of inspiring, really, that one teenager could  
__have so many goals in life and still have the absolute certainty  
__that he can reach every single one of those goals._

----------

"I don't think you're thinking very realistically on this matter, Quatre. The purebloods disapprove of muggleborns being included in the wizarding world not out of unreasoned hatred and bigotry, but because their introduction to our world inevitably leads to even more muggles realizing our existence. We both know that, according to past experiences throughout history, our kind aren't fondly thought of by muggles. They're panicky and fearful of things they couldn't even begin to comprehend, and they lash out by attempting to wipe us out. Despite what the Ministry wants us to think, purebloods usually have enough status to know that many witches and wizards died during the Spanish Inquisition before word of charms that protected against burning spread. A lot of lines were almost ended because of that disaster."

"But I do understand," Quatre said somberly, taking a moment to taste the steaming tea from the expensive china that rested in his hands. "It's a very realistic fear to have, but it doesn't just apply to muggles. Wizards, too, tend to be irrational about cultures they aren't familiar with, as well. All-wizarding families like the Weasleys tend to have a blind optimism about how harmless muggles are, and they simply aren't. What muggles lack in magic, they make up for in technology; and some muggle technology can be quite dangerous on a widespread scale. However, you're also guilty of stereotyping muggles on the opposite side of the spectrum. You realize muggles can be a threat, but you can't seem to accept that _all_ muggles aren't like that. Only one of my sisters knows exactly where I've disappeared to, and she's absolutely fascinated and amazed by the implications of a purely wizarding society hidden away from the rest of the world. She's very enthusiastic and quite accepting of the new lifestyle I lead, and she happens to be a muggle."

"Squib," Draco corrected Quatre. "You're mother was a witch. I wouldn't doubt she didn't even bother telling your father about it, though I would like to know how she hid her magic from him. In any case, your sister would be classified as a squib. All of your sisters would, in fact." Draco blinked, suddenly realizing for the first time that Quatre had more than one sister. How many squib cousins did he have? "How many sisters do you have?"

Quatre suddenly smiled. "I have twenty-nine older sisters."

"You're kidding." There was no way that was even _possible_.

"I'm not," Quatre promised, chuckling. "I haven't met them all yet, but I know each of their names."

----------

_No wonder Lucius' sister turned her back on the family. Quatre's  
__father must have been quite the Viking in the sack._

(Beside this single sentence was another thing that appeared to have been added after the fact, but instead of words, it was a single drawing of a stubby person that looked remarkably like Duo, pointing at the sentence while clearly howling with laughter, a few block-lettered "ha!"s crowning the doodle's bread-bearing head.)

----------

"What is Draco boggling over now?" Trowa asked his boyfriend as he swept through the room they'd adopted for tea time. The tall Slytherin casually laid his holster on the breakfast room's table, the butt of his gun jutting out from the leather confinement. There was no doubt where he had decided to spend his time; Draco didn't doubt that Duo, Heero, and possibly Wufei were still taking advantage of the dungeons new purpose as a firing range-slash-training course.

Quatre smiled at the taller boy, an almost innocent amusement shining in his eyes. "I just informed Draco of how many sisters I actually have."

Trowa raised an eyebrow and looked at Draco. "They're all overprotective, too."

_The poor bastard_, Draco mused, absently replying, "I'm beginning to understand why you don't act like other boys our age, Quatre."

Quatre blinked, honestly confused. "What do you mean?"

Draco would have explained that Quatre wasn't quite as masculine and grandstanding as most seventeen year old teenage boys were, and he probably would have been very honest about it. However, a stern, blank look from Trowa immediately caused him to rethink his initial reply and, adopting a facade of nonchalance, said, "I meant that you are astonishingly mature for someone who would normally be thinking less about politics and more about typical teenage drama, like angst over spots and getting called out for misbehavior by teachers. I've heard older siblings tend to have such an influence." Which was a bald-faced lie, but he had to have some reason to justify his reply.

"I've just never considering things like that as something to really think much about," Quatre admitted, taking Draco's word at face value. Trowa nodded silently in approval and took a moment to pour himself a cup of tea, and Draco allowed himself to relax in relief while still attempting to swallow the indignity of having to placate _anyone_. "Worrying about pimples and showing off to gain attention aren't really things that are important, in the long run."

----------

_If there's one thing I have to say about Quatre, it's this: he  
__has an amazing talent of simplifying a common action and making  
__people realize how ridiculous a person's actions are_ _with only a  
__few words and an earnest expression. He's almost every bit the  
__half-Malfoy that he is, but with wildly different opinions and a  
__very sincere persona. Malfoys, as a rule, are also very  
__opinionated but condescending to the point of cruelty._

_I would also like to take this opportunity to say it again: I  
__bloody hate having to mince words just to placate Quatre so Trowa  
__won't enact some sort of vengeance on me for hurting his angel. I  
__hate I hate I hate._

_Wufei, however, has been irritating me on an entirely different  
__matter, but I can't blame him solely for this one. To tell the  
__truth, I asked for it._

----------

"I want you to teach me your style of fighting."

Wufei looked up from his book, appearing slightly befuddled by Draco's sudden declaration as the blond barged into the library. "Pardon?"

"You remember our wager," Draco said, standing at the end of the table Wufei was sitting at and lifting his chin proudly. "I've decided what to have you do for me. I want you to teach me your style of fighting. I particularly like the sword style that you practice, but the hand-to-hand looks bloody amazing, as well."

Wufei blinked, slowly placing a bookmark between the pages he was on and closing the book. "You want me to teach you martial arts?"

Draco frowned. "What? You don't think I could do it?"

"It's not that," Wufei replied, shaking his head. "Although I do find it difficult to believe that you'd willingly adhere yourself to my schedule, I'm mostly surprised that you've decided to use this opportunity to learn something new instead of using it to humiliate me like Maxwell would."

Draco waved his hand in the air with a derisive snort. "Please. Duo's going to get exactly what he deserves, and he's going to have to grin and bear it. You, however, really don't deserve the kind of plot I have for Duo. While you tend to be a bit condescending and appear to have a stick permanently wedged in a place I'm not going to take the time to name, you don't actively annoy me. It helps that you look absolutely wicked when I see you practicing your katas. As much as I hate to admit that something so obviously muggle fascinates me, it's certainly something that intrigues me."

Wufei smirked. "You could have stopped at the point where you mentioned Maxwell is going to get exactly what he deserves, and I would have immediately agreed to teach you martial arts."

There were more than a few important things that Draco and Wufei had in common. For one, both were fiercely loyal to family and friends, but not to the point they would not take the time to question their methods. For another, both of them were very aware of the importance of tradition, no matter how outdated the world seemed to perceive such things. Thirdly, although Wufei and Draco defined the concept differently, both were very concerned with honor and how their actions honored themselves and their families. One of the most important commonality between them, however, was their desire to see Duo Maxwell taken down a peg or two. The mischievous American tended to use the two of them for his own amusement, and finally being able to one-up the Gryffindor was both refreshing and worthy of combining forces.

"You do realize I'm not going to go easy on you," Wufei added solemnly, crossing his arms. "You are going to wake up every morning as the sun rises and join me in the clearing of the grove until breakfast, and you're going to do it with minimal complaining. I'll allow you a little leeway about complaining for the first few weeks, but I'll expect you to have a better attitude later on. Do you understand, Black?"

Draco almost considered rethinking his intentions when Wufei basically informed him that he'd have to be sociable at such an ungodly hour of the morning, but Draco Black _never_ backed away from a challenge. "I understand completely, Chang."

"Good," Wufei said with a final nod, finally opening the book he was reading previously. "We'll start tomorrow morning."

----------

_Not that I'm regretting my decision to actively pursue this  
__sudden introduction into physical defense and offense or  
__anything, but I have to admit that I wasn't particularly prepared  
__for the task master that is Chang Wufei. He's strict and  
__irritatingly condescending of all my mistakes, but at least he  
__evens out his scorn with a fair bit of encouragement when I do  
__something competently. He's informed me that my previous  
__experience with fencing helps, particularly when it comes to the  
__sword. I just have to remind myself that the rules between the  
__two sword styles are very different when it comes to posturing,  
__and I have to admit that I'm quite good at it. The hand-to-hand  
__form of fighting, however, is a bit more tricky. I'll just say  
__it's a work in process._

_As you've probably noticed, it has been a rather hectic summer  
__thus far. I honestly can't see how I'm going to survive the rest  
__of the holiday with my ever-so-endearing personality unscathed,  
__though I suspect you may think this is a good thing. The  
__unwavering optimism of a Gryffindor is something you clearly are  
__not lacking, Harry. Even though my inner Slytherin wants to snark  
__at you for it, I can't help but to find that optimism adorable on  
__you._

_Which proves that you, too, are trying to infect me with your  
__silly ideals, whether you mean to or not. I just can't seem to  
__get away from people like you. At least I'm never bored._

_I hope this letter finds you well. After reading your last  
__letter, I realized that, compared to my summer, yours is turning  
__out to be rather mundane. This is simply intolerable, and I vow  
__that the situation should be promptly rectified. As such, expect  
__a very unique and amusing experience to happen to you on your  
__birthday. I'll even give you a hint: it involves humiliating Duo  
__and entertaining you. Doesn't that just put a smile on your face?  
__It certainly puts one on mine._

_I've said it before and I'll write it now. Victory is sweet._

_Yours,_

_**Draco** _

----------

Draco's parting words, illuminated with the aid of a torch as it was well past midnight, really did put a smile on Harry's face. Despite the pompous aristocracy that simply dripped from every word of the letter, it was very clear that spending time with their five friends was having a very positive impact on the recalcitrant former Malfoy heir. In fact, the letter Harry held in his hands was the first that didn't have anything despairingly scathing about muggles in general. Oh, there seemed to be a fond dislike of muggles in general, but it was clear that Draco was far less disapproving and a little more tolerant of muggle things.

Who knew Draco could take so well to the positive things that muggles had to offer? Harry had certainly been leery of Duo's intentions when he first heard about it. The green-eyed boy had doubted Duo's personal mission would ever succeed, but it actually appeared that the muggle-oriented group was making some progress on that point.

He folded the letter carefully and slid it back in the envelope it arrived in. He quietly pried the floorboards from their place under his bed and placed the newest letter from Draco in a stack of letters that included not only letters from Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but a fair few from Duo and Quatre, as well. Once that was done, he quietly replaced the floorboards and crawled back into bed, silently promising to write back to Draco during his free time tomorrow.

"I wonder what he's planning for my birthday?" Harry whispered to himself, staring vacantly out of his small bedroom window. Draco had seemed rather giddy about what he had planned, and his plot required Duo's full cooperation.

One thing was for sure, however; Harry suspected that the Dursleys weren't going to know what hit them if Duo Maxwell ever darkened their doorstep.

Harry smirked. Whatever Draco's plan, it would certainly prove... interesting.

_**END CHAPTER THREE**_

* * *

**__**

**(1) All misspellings in this paragraph are intentional. The letter IS written by Draco, and I doubt he'd actually go about asking how certain things are spelled.**


	4. Harry's Birthday Surprise

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Four**_

Dudley Dursley was many things, and none of them seemed particularly charming. He was egotistical, gluttonous, manipulative, cruel, and overbearing. From day one he seemed to realize he held such an overwhelming power of influence over his parents, and the other traits seemed to come hand in hand with that knowledge. He was never denied what he wanted, and when he wanted something, his parents always gave him the best money could buy. This made him spoiled, greedy, and indulgent, especially when it came to things like meaningless possessions and food. His parents obvious denial that Dudley could be anything less than the perfect son forced them to turn a blind eye to both his obesity and his obvious attraction to violence, especially when he was the one inflicting the violence.

He thrilled in causing the pain and fear of others to the point of sadism; the adrenaline rush of his unfortunate victims' cowering before him or running away in fear of him was both an addiction and a need. Subconsciously, he realized that other parents showed their love by disciplining their children when they were as unruly and demanding as Dudley, wanting to ensure their children grew to be moral and prosperous adults. Dudley Dursley didn't have that assurance; he'd never been disciplined for anything in his entire life, and he believed that concern for his safety was something his parents were unwilling to give. He used the euphonium overpowering others gave him to fill that unrealized void for acknowledgment from his parents.

There was no better focus for his need to inflict pain on others than his freakish cousin. That, too, had been something that was ingrained into Dudley at a very early age. His parents' constant depreciation and loathing for the scrawny boy was passed on to Dudley through learned actions throughout Harry's stay with the Dursley family, and Petunia and Vernon Dursley's constant lording over showering Dudley with whatever he wanted, whether it be the quality of food or gifts, while Harry had to accept hand-me-down clothes, tiny portions of the poorest part of meals, and no gifts whatsoever. This constant conditioning inspired Dudley to be selfish and boastful over what he had that others did not. It didn't even matter if he actually wanted whatever toy or second helping of dessert he asked for, as long as he could say that he had it. It was especially pleasurable when he could join in with his parents over lording what Dudley had that Harry didn't.

In retrospect, Dudley's general unpleasantness could have been avoided if someone had taken the time to intervene in the Dursleys' child-rearing habits early on, when Dudley was still capable of comprehending things like humility and moral fibre. As it stood, that time had come and gone too long ago to do any good for him now.

There was one thing, however, that Dudley was beginning to realize he wanted that his parents couldn't freely give to him. Not legally, anyway; he was positive that, should he probe the subject with his parents, they would do anything in their power to make sure their precious son was satisfied. He was starting to realize he would soon have to resort to such drastic measures if he didn't find his wants fulfilled soon, and it was one thing he was reluctant to ask his parents for.

Dudley Dursley wanted a girl.

He didn't want a girl_friend_. Most of his puberty was spent seeing women as objects for pleasure and nothing more. Having a girlfriend would require that Dudley actually spend time with the inferior sex outside of snogging and shagging, and the constant fawning and yearning for attention and love outside of a rough tumble in bed was not something Dudley was willing to put up with. He had his own wants and needs to satisfy, so why waste his precious efforts on the wants and needs of others?

However, from observing the behavior of his posse when it came to picking up birds, the old saying his aunt Marge always nattered about (always after a couple of generous helpings of brandy) had proven true. One really couldn't lure flies with vinegar. If he was going to get a girl, he would actually have to fake _some_ desire for commitment, at least until he got what he wanted.

Dudley Dursley found his virgin status intolerable. If he wanted to unburden himself from this gross injustice, he was going to have to work some kind of mojo during this summer. He refused to remain a virgin when all of his other friends came to him with feverishly detailed stories of their sexual exploits when he had no experiences of his own to gloat about. Oh, he lied well enough to get away with pretending that he'd had more girls and better sex than all of them combined without question, but lying about it didn't quite gratify his need for justification.(1,2)

He was fuming over his sordid sex life (or lack thereof) when he was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. His parents had stepped out for a moment, and that freak was probably busy weeding the garden in the backyard before his parents got home so he would actually be allowed something resembling a meal for the evening. It always irked him that the freak took the time to worry about Dudley's parents' reaction if their orders weren't followed to the letter, but his cousin didn't consider Dudley enough of a threat to answer the door if Dudley bothered to try to make him do so.

The overweight teenager sighed noisily in irritation and pulled his heavy body from where the couch had sunken in dangerously under three hundred and some-odd pounds of girth mostly made up of muscle and fat. While he was now a boxing champion at his father's alma mater, thanks to actual encouragement from his coach (both when it came to bulking up and constructively feeding his addiction to violence), he still had a considerable amount of flab that had yet to turn into hard muscle.

He almost tore the door off with his vigor to make the unwelcome visitor go away sooner so he could finish the program on the telly, but the actual sight made him stop cold.

A beautiful teenaged girl had decided to grace the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive. She was breathtakingly gorgeous with her sparkling eyes that were accented with kohl and a subtle shade of violet eyeshadow that brought out the uniqueness in her irises. Her hair was long and thick and shiny, falling down to the curve of a delectable rump that Dudley didn't have the pleasure of seeing; but with a body like that, such a cute arse was inevitable. She had long legs that her flowing floral-print skirt hugged and teased with the aid of the wind, leaving a lot to the imagination. Attached to those legs were lean, narrow hips that curved angularly, and a rather generously proportioned bust that was neither too big or too small for her build.

Perhaps her only imperfection was that her shoulders appeared to be a little too broad compared to the women Dudley often saw in dirty mags that were secreted under his mattress, but her sweet smile more than made up for that slight flaw. When she spoke, her voice was low and husky; the perfect bedroom voice that Dudley usually heard from the vast combination of x-rated movies that belonged to him and his friends.

The words, however, were certainly nothing like what Dudley heard from any pornography. "Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?"

_That_ certainly put a damper on Dudley's rising lust. If anything killed a potential fantasy so fast and so quickly, it was bringing up an icon from a religion that demanded abstinence from followers. It almost wasn't worth making the effort to at least attempt to fake interest in dating her, even if he planned to drop her as soon as he got what he wanted. However, she was so much more beautiful than the kind of girls his friends picked up, and Dudley Dursley had the best of _everything_.

Apparently, he didn't have anything to worry about when it came to the girl being a religious prude. When Dudley had taken too long to form a reply, she grinned lopsidedly, her glistening petal pink lips drawing Dudley's eyes immediately. She had such straight, perfect white teeth, not like most of the British nation. "Oh, so you _were_ staring at the glory that is my delectable self. For a moment, I thought you were speechless because you expected me to be a Jehovah's Witness or something."

American girl. And, if what Dudley had heard was true, American girls were easier than most, especially when it came to British boys. Something about some attraction to the differences in accents, which was understandable; her own accent was especially exotic.

Before he could formulate a reply (hopefully something that would be in some way endearing to her and how attracted he was to her), she offered a hand, her fingernails painted the same shade of light pink as her lips. "My name's Dana Kinsley. I'm in Surrey visiting a friend of mine from school."

Dudley took her hand lightly, expecting a dainty handshake. He was a little surprised to find a stronger grip than he initially expected. "I'm Dudley Dursley. What brings a pretty girl like you to my humble doorstep?"

His attempt at suavity must have worked because she hid her face shyly behind her hand as she giggled nervously. "Well, that's just the thing, really. I'm... a bit out of place. I don't know my way around much, and I can't seem to find my friend. I was hoping that I could use your phone?" Her final statement tapered off more like an inquiry than an actual request as her sparkling eyes looked to him hopefully.

Dudley swiftly moved out of the doorway, inviting her inside with a sweeping hand gesture and a smile. Even if being congenial wasn't in his nature, Dudley certainly knew how to manipulate people; girls were no exception. If he was going to use honey to draw in this fly, he was certainly going to put some effort into it. "Come on in. I never turn down a girl in need."

Her cheeks reddened slightly, the corner of her eyes crinkling as she hid what Dudley assumed was a smile behind her palm again. He took her embarrassment as a good sign; maybe the British accent and pretending to be interested in her instead of what she had to offer him was working after all?

She glided into the foyer with a click of her high-heeled shoes on the linoleum floor, wandering further into the Dursley home with a curious expression on her face as she examined the domicile. Her attention on the interior design (what else would a girl consider while looking around like she was?) gave Dudley plenty of time to observe the pleasurable curve of an arse that he had known was meant to come with such a beautifully sculpted body.

"Nice place," she commented, smiling again as she looked over her shoulder at Dudley. He jerked his eyes away from her bum to hurriedly smile disarmingly at her in return.

"Thanks," Dudley replied, hoping the sudden tightening at the corners of her mouth wasn't because he'd been caught staring at a place that girls didn't like boys staring at. Girls were weird like that. "My dad owns his own business, and we happen to be quite wealthy because of it." What better way to bring a girl to his bed than by informing her of how wealthy he was by proxy? That's all girls really looked for in guys, right?

"Lucky you," she murmured airily, not even seeming the least bit impressed by this knowledge. "Thanks for letting me use your phone. Being a complete stranger and all..."

"It's no problem," Dudley said, smiling charmingly. "Especially for a beautiful lady in need." He led her over to the phone in the hallway leading to the kitchen; with his back to her, he was completely ignorant of the girl rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Here it is."

"I can see that," she said huskily, sounding amused. With a quick, sultry smile of thanks directed toward the boy, she picked up the phone and quickly dialed a number that Dudley didn't quite catch. He watched as she waited for someone on the other side to pick up; however, after almost an entire minute of letting the phone ring, she bowed her head in defeat and hung up.

"My friend hasn't made it home yet," she said sadly, looking up at Dudley with large eyes. "I don't think I can find the house from here..."

Dudley quickly jumped at the opportunity to have the girl stay longer so he could wear down her defenses more. "You can stay here and try again later. I'm sure she'll be home eventually."

She seemed to hesitate, her eyes flickering over the many pictures lining the walls, all of which featured Dudley and/or his parents in some form or another. "If you're sure I won't be imposing..."

"Of course not," Dudley insisted. This was working out a lot better than he'd originally thought it would. "A Dursley never turns away a girl in need."

"That's... nice," she replied vaguely, her voice oddly choked. Perhaps moving into her personal space had been a bit much when he'd decided to step closer because she seemed to lean back a little for breathing room. "Are you the only one here?"(3)

Dudley froze. _Damn_. "Well, I-"

His freak cousin took that exact moment to come in from the backyard, filthy with dirt and sweat, his expression sour yet resigned to his fate as the Dursley family's personal slave. The freak was actually bold enough to snidely mimic Dudley's mother's high, demanding voice as he bitterly murmured, "'And that garden better be weedless by the time we get back, or you won't be getting any dinner for a week.' It's like she intentionally lets the garden get that out of hand just to spite me. Then again, I wouldn't be surprised if that is her reason for being such a lazy-"

Harry finally noticed that Dudley was in the hallway; more importantly, Dudley was in the hallway with a girl. The freak immediately halted his words, blinking rapidly at the sight before him. "You have a _girlfriend_, Dudders?"

Dudley wanted to pound his cousin's freakish face into ground beef for Harry's incredulous disbelief, hating that the other was implying that Dudley couldn't get a girlfriend. Balling his hands into tight fists, he grounded out through gritted teeth, "Like I've ever seen _you_ with a girl, Potter."

The girl blinked, apparently confused by the way Dudley chose to address the other boy with barely veiled contempt. "Sibling rivalry?" she suggested, glancing between the two of them curiously.

Dudley immediately scoffed, and Harry's face spoke volumes to how disturbed he was about the matter. "We're not siblings. I can't stand the freak."

"As if a spoiled, overbearing oinker like you is such a pleasure to be around," Harry replied out of place. Again, Dudley felt the overwhelming desire to beat the snot right out of his cousin, only to curb his need for inflicting pain on the scrawny little freak for fear that the girl would run off at such a show of violence.

Harry seemed to do a double-take, examining the girl closely for a long moment; Dudley could almost see the cogs working behind his cousin's expressive, freakishly green eyes, and he feared his cousin was beginning to realize how gorgeous the girl was. The freak would go as far as to attempt to steal away what Dudley wanted out of spite. (At least, Dudley thought Harry would be so envious over his obvious superiority over Harry that his downtrodden cousin would covet what Dudley wanted.)

So Dudley was surprised when a look of realization spread across Harry's face. "Oh... my... _God_," Harry choked out seconds before he doubled over and began to laugh.

Dudley stared at the obviously insane freak. _He's lost his gourde_!

----------

Meanwhile, the series of these aforementioned events happened much differently for Dana Kinsley. Dudley Dursley was certain that he and Dana were the only ones in the conversation, but he was wrong. Not only did Dana know they were being watched, but she could hear the voices of those who did the watching.

"That must be the cousin."

"Didn't Harry say he and his cousin don't get along?"

"I'm certain Harry doesn't get along with his entire family. He always writes negatively about them."

"He doesn't write about them at all in his letters to me!"

"You think muggles are inferior, and Duo's trying to change that. Harry probably doesn't want to give you a negative view of muggles."

"I knew that braided numbskull was only feeding me half the story on those bloody muggles!"

Dana, needless to say, became rather tired of the banter from the voices in her head -literally. And Harry's cousin was... _staring_ at her with look of unbridled lust, and it was seriously freaking her out.

"Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?" she blurted, relaxing when his face slackened with disbelief, the lust immediately seeming to fade.

Of course, the lustful gaze didn't disappear fast enough to avoid the notice of their watchers. Two of the voices were cackling almost madly, and Dana could hear one of the gentler voices murmur, "Oh, dear..."

Yet another voice calmly said, "Looks like Dana's a little _too_ convincing, isn't she?"

A fifth voice actually_ growled_.

Dana felt her lips curl into a smile. _A show of jealousy... This will prove most interesting_. Than she looked back at the Dursley kid with a small amount of trepidation turning her stomach. _Disturbing... but interesting_.

"Oh, so you _were_ staring at the glory that is my delectable self. For a moment, I thought you were speechless because you expected me to be a Jehovah's Witness or something."

There was silence from the voices. Then, "Are you_ flirting _with the fat muggle?"

Dana wouldn't have answered even if she could; answering an inquiry that Dursley hadn't heard would certainly cause him to become suspicious. Instead, she held out her hand. "My name's Dana Kinsley. I'm in Surrey visiting a friend of mine from school."

He took the bait. "I'm Dudley Dursley. What brings a pretty girl like you to my humble doorstep?"

"The dishonorable cad."

"That's... I don't know whether to laugh or cry."

Someone growled.

"You don't think he'll try to kiss her, do you?"

"I can't decide who I would be more worried for if that happened, little one." It was clear why one of the voices would worry for Dursley when another growl echoed in Dana's ear.

Dana almost threw up in her mouth a little. She placed her palm over her mouth to hide her visible frown of disgust when she tasted bile on the back of her tongue, and once she was certain nothing embarrassing would happen, she forced a weak chuckle. "Well, that's just the thing, really. I'm... a bit out of place. I don't know my way around much, and I can't seem to find my friend. I was hoping that I could use your phone?" There. Hopefully she didn't sound traumatized by Dursley's flirting.

The rotund teenager welcomed her inside. "Come on in. I never turn down a girl in need."

Dana smiled in amusement. Oh, if only he knew...

When Dana stepped over the threshold, she immediately began to survey her surroundings. She chanced a frown, her back turned to Dursley; her target was no where in sight. In fact, there didn't seem to be any sign that there was another person there. _Crap_...

"Where is he?"

"Is this the right house?"

"Number 4 Privet Drive. We checked the address, remember?"

"Does this mean she'll have to stay?"

"Hn." A dissatisfied grunt.

"Nice place." Dana gulped and forced a smile, turning to look at Dursley just in time to see his head jerk up guiltily. She barely restrained the urge to lose her cool and beat the guy's face into pulp. _Perverted bastard_...

"Thanks," he said, attempting to recover from his social faux pas. "My dad owns his own business, and we happen to be quite wealthy because of it."

_What a jackass_...

A voice snorted. "What a witless plebeian. Obviously he wouldn't know true wealth if it bit him on the arse."

_Draco Malfoy, ladies and gentlemen_, Dana thought sardonically. _Supreme Ruler of Elitist Snobs_.

"Lucky you," she murmured nonchalantly, hoping to convey just how much that mattered to her. Really. "Thanks for letting me use your phone. Being a complete stranger and all..."

"It's no problem," he said, preening. "Especially for a beautiful lady in need." When he began leading her further into the house, she rolled her eyes to show her aggravation. Dana didn't know how long she could tolerate Dursley's failings as a suave seducer, but it was quickly beginning to grind on her nerves.

"Here it is," he said, presenting her to the phone with a wide hand gesture.

Dana had to stifle a snicker over his posturing. He looked like an exuberant car salesman presenting the latest wears to a potential buyer. "I can see that."

She picked up the receiver and dialed a random number; before the call could go out, however, she subtly pulled the extension from its slot on the side of the phone, killing the line for the moment.

"Harry's still not around."

"He couldn't be out, could he?"

"Are you kidding? That would be going against Dumbledore's request for Harry to stay at Number 4 for as long as possible. Trust me; I've written the Headmaster about letting Harry stay with me twice, and both times he said it was too soon for Harry to leave."

"I suppose Dumbledore wants to take advantage of the Dursleys' blood protection over Harry as long as possible."

"Heero, you _do_ realize she's going to have to stay there until Harry shows up."

A growl. "If he doesn't show in five minutes, she's leaving."

"... I'll concede to that."

"Good."

Dana stifled a groan before she slowly placed the phone down, deciding to leave the extension unplugged. She looked at Dursley sadly and said, "My friend hasn't made it home yet. I don't think I can find the house from here..."

Of course, the jerk jumped at the chance to 'get to know' Dana. "You can stay here and try again later. I'm sure she'll be home eventually."

"Why aren't there any pictures of Harry?" the nasally voice demanded suddenly.

"What?"

"Heero's right... Look at the pictures on the walls. None of them have Harry in them..."

Dana's eyes flew to the family portraits and framed snapshots, barely suppressing her frown. All of them had a member of the Dursley family in some form or another, but Dana didn't see a single sign of Harry. _Oh, God... what if I'm in the wrong house_?

"If you're sure I won't be imposing..."

"Of course not," he said, perhaps a little _too_ eagerly, both in action and words. He moved too close for comforting, his large mass invading her precious personal space. The close proximity made her squirm backwards, but the small of her back pressed against the small table where the phone was resting. "A Dursley never turns away a girl in need."

Dana was starting to feel the bile rise in her throat again. "That's... nice." It had to be the right house. Harry had to be there! "Are you the only one here?"

Dursley blanched at that, obviously displeased. _Thank GOD_. "Well, I-"

And then Harry Potter himself came in to save the day. As always.

"Ever notice how he shows up at exactly the right time; not a moment sooner or later?"

A snort. "Hero's luck."

"That makes sense, actually. Heero has the same luck."

"Heero's name _is_ 'Hero'. Stands to reason he was sort of destined to be one."

Of course, Dana found it difficult to keep up with both of the conversations going on at once, one being the one in her head and the other being a conversation Harry seemed to be having with himself. Judging by the sour expression on the Gryffindor's face, Harry was actually complaining to himself.

Than Harry stopped talking, looking between Dursley and Dana with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Dana almost breathed a sigh of relief when the bulky jackass moved away quickly, glaring at Harry for disturbing his game.

Harry blinked. "You have a _girlfriend_, Dudders?"

Dana's jaw visibly dropped.

One of the voices sounded sardonically amused. "You were right, Barton. Dana's a little _too_ convincing."

"That, and Harry's a little obtuse. Give him a minute. He'll recognize dear Dana after he really looks at her."

'Dudders' sounded angry and had a look on his face that promised pain as he said bitingly, "Like I've ever seen you with a girl, Potter."

"At least I know he's not cheating on me."

"Draco!"

"What? Yes, I realize that I'm too sexy to be cheated on. There's always a chance he'll finally see that being my boyfriend will expose him to entirely too much sarcasm that jars with his silly Gryffindor ideals."

Dana blinked. "Sibling rivalry?" She was supposed to be ignorant of the family dynamics, after all.

The cousins looked absolutely disgusted by the suggestion.

"We're not siblings. I can't stand the freak," Dursley spat, glaring at Harry.

"Freak? _Freak_?" One of the voices shrieked, almost causing Dana to visibly wince.

"As if a spoiled, overbearing oinker like you is such a pleasure to be around," Harry replied with the same amount of loathing.

"That's my Harry!"

"Spoiled and overbearing?" The voice chuckled. "Sounds a bit like someone we know..."

"_I am nothing like that whale of a muggle_!"

"Really? Then how did you know who Barton was talking about?"

"Wufei..." A voice chided.

"I hate all of you," the voice responded flatly.

"Hn."

Harry was staring at her. Many expressions crossed his face, starting with suspicion and a myriad of other emotions that came with it; after the moment passed and recognition hit, Harry first appeared shocked, which quickly turned into hysteria.

"Oh... my... _God_," Harry choked.

"Bingo!" a voice crowed. "We have recognition!"

And then Harry doubled over in laughter.

Let's get one thing straight.

Duo Maxwell _did not _look like a girl. He was perfectly masculine in every way; so what if his face was a little soft on the eyes compared to Heero, Trowa, and Wufei? So what if he had a braid that was nearly three meters long? Who cared if his slender figure could possibly resemble that of a woman's? He was manly in every way, and damn anyone who had anything to say to the contrary.

Therefore, he was completely offended that it took Harry Potter almost two full minutes to realize that the girl standing before him wasn't a girl at all. He had been even more offended that the muscle-headed loser that answered the door had considered him drool-worthy enough to stare at his ass, but Harry's prolonged reaction was icing on the cake of humiliation.

Damn that Draco Black. Damn him to hell for being so freaking ruthless in dealing with someone who hurt his pride. And damn him again for forcing Duo into a dress, makeup, and letting his hair loose without a braid. Damn the boy for a third time for making Duo wear the _fucking_ open-toed high-heels that were causing his feet to throb in pain. He didn't know how women put up with such nonsense.

"It accentuates a lady's derriere," Draco had replied breezily as he rummaged through his mother's wardrobe in search of a nice lilac top that would match the floral print of the skirt Duo was to be wearing for the evening. "Now stop complaining and put on your stockings already!"

And while he was on this mental tangent, damn Wufei for taking pictures of the whole transformation process. "For the scrap book," the Chinese youth had remarked with a barely concealed smirk, snapping away with his camera as Trowa quietly insisted that Duo remain still while the quiet Slytherin applied rogue to Duo's cheeks.

When attempting to find someone to do Duo's makeup for the occasion, Draco had originally gone to Quatre, theorizing that anyone with so many sisters would know a thing or two about makeup in general. They were all surprised when Quatre claimed that he possessed no such talent and volunteered Trowa for the job; apparently putting on clown makeup was only a bit more different than the technique women used to paint their faces. Duo was especially surprised that Quatre went as far as to volunteer Trowa's help in the first place; the move had almost listed Quatre as a traitor in Duo's book. However, in retrospect, Duo miserably realized that he deserved whatever he was getting, and Quatre was just trying to be fair.

That didn't mean he had to like it, however.

'Dana' shook his head, feigning confusion. Instead, however, he was somewhat pleased that Harry was enjoying Draco's birthday 'entertainment,' as it were, even if the green-eyed Gryffindor's amusement was because of the situation Duo managed to land himself in _this_ time. As it stood, Duo was never going to doubt Draco's ability in anything ever again unless he had solid proof to the contrary.

"Is he okay?" Duo asked worriedly, eyeing Harry as if he'd never seen the boy before in his life.

"He won't be by the time I'm done with him," Dudley Dursley muttered threatening, appearing as if he was just one step closer to raising a fist to Harry. Duo couldn't smother his concerned frown as he contemplated the tubby but muscular muggle cousin of Harry Potter.

Duo was a great judge of character. It came with the territory, really; on the streets of L2, a street rat like him had to be able to gage the difference between genuine concern and sugar-coated lies very quickly. One mistake in judgement had dire consequences, not only for the individual, but for the pack as a whole. Dudley was exactly the kind of person that made Duo's internal alarms shriek. Duo had been mentally set at DEF-CON 2 since the moment he'd entered the home. The rotund teenager attempted to soothe "Dana Kinsley" with kind smiles and words, but Duo knew full well that under that pleasant veneer lay something far more vicious.

"Sorry," Harry wheezed, finally recovering enough sense to play along. "Just... thought of something..."

"Did it hurt?" Duo asked sweetly. Just because he enjoyed making Harry laugh didn't mean he enjoyed the humiliation that came with it, and he was going to make sure that Harry knew it.

"It certainly did," Harry gasped, still laughing weakly. "Oh, my sides..."

Bastard.

"Way to go, Harry." The voice sounded impressed.

"Potter certainly won that round over Dana."

Duo gritted his teeth. He wished the others would stop referring to him as one of the female persuasion; unfortunately, it was one of the conditions of the bet.

"Shouldn't you be doing chores or something?" Dursley demanded rudely, giving his cousin the evil eye. Duo almost scoffed at Dursley's effort to look menacing. His glare didn't hold a candle to expressions he often saw on Wufei and Heero's faces.

"I'm finished, Dudders," Harry replied with a smirk. "Besides, I think I'll stick around to protect the poor girl's virtue. It's a moral imperative."

"Hn," Heero grunted, sounding oddly pleased that Harry was present to help fend off Dursley's unwanted molestation.

_Thanks ever so. _"How sweet. You think you need to protect me," Duo murmured in his husky feminine falsetto. "Before you go protecting my virtue, I think introductions are in order. I'm Dana Kinsley."

Harry bowed sweepingly. "Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise, I'm sure," Duo said demurely.

"Spirits, will you look at how they're playing that muggle sap? Priceless," Draco crowed, chuckling wickedly.

"Quite," Wufei murmur, sounding equally amused.

For that matter, Duo spared a glance toward the seething wannabe Lothario. The bulky boy looked none-too-pleased with how well his cousin and the girl he'd been flirting with were hitting it off. In fact, judging by the sudden glint of malice in youngest Dursley's watery blue eyes, the idiot was attempting to devise a plan to rectify the situation.

Whatever plot his pea-brain could develop was abruptly halted by the front door opening, admitting a strikingly thin woman with a neck that was too long and a face that vaguely resembled a horse's. The fat man with the bushy mustache that came in after her looked equally comparable to an animal, but he was more like a walrus instead of a horse.

The whale, the walrus, and the horse. All the makings of a really bad joke.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who made this observation. "Harry's related to people with close ties to the animal kingdom?"

Trowa immediately burst out laughing at Draco's bland question.

"There he goes again," Wufei said wearily.

The walrus frowned at the teenagers clogging his hallway. Before the man could demand the identity of the strange girl, Dudley jumped at the opportunity to explain.

"Dad, this is Dana Kinsley. She's staying until she can contact her friend." The youngest Dursley didn't phrase this as a request; instead, it sounded very much like a fact, as if 'Dana' was staying no matter what Vernon and Petunia Dursley had to say about it.

"Presumptuous git, isn't he?" Draco muttered. "If I had used that tone with Lucius, he would have maimed me."

"Seems to be working for him," Wufei said, sounding disgusted. "What kind of parents are they to allow a child to boss them around? Incompetent fools..."

The horse seemed to catch on to what the whale was implying because she suddenly smiled proudly. "Of course your girlfriend can stay, Duddykins," she said, her voice sickeningly sweet. All Duo could think was, ... _Duddykins_?

"You must stay for dinner, dear," she prattled on, hanging her stylishly gaudy raincoat on the coat rack. "Do you like roast?"

Duo forced a smile; he didn't really want to stay for dinner. In fact, he was very ready to leave and remove the uncomfortable makeup and rip off the itchy stockings. However...

"Stay! Stay! I want you to bait the muggles!"

"Draco!" Quatre admonished, sounding oddly sharp.

"What? Look, you people haven't let me bait muggles for ages. At least let me do it through Dana!"

"This is supposed to be Harry's gift," Trowa pointed out.

"So? This is still my wager, and I say Dana hasn't fulfilled her side of the wager yet."

"Go ahead and stay, Duo."

"Heero?" Quatre inquired, sounding surprised.

"I love roast," Duo gushed. "I'll stay if it'll be no trouble to you and your family, ma'am," Duo added, smiling sweetly and doing a small curtsey. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner." _What the hell, Heero_?...

"Harry's description of his relatives has concerned me for some time now," Heero said calmly. "If my suspicions prove true, I believe it would be imperative to remove him from the Dursleys' custody."

"But what about Dumbledore?" Wufei asked.

"Damn Dumbledore," Draco replied snidely. "I don't like what Heero's implying, and even if he tends to be a little paranoid, I want to see if it's true or not."

"What a polite girl," Petunia Dursley beamed.

"That's my boy, Dudders," the walrus boasted, clapping his son on the back, a picture of masculine pride. The pride immediately seemed to fall from Vernon Dursley's face as his attention turned to Harry.

"Well, boy?" he boomed gruffly.

"I'm done weeding the garden," Harry said stiffly, a spark of rebellion shining in his angry green eyes as he lifted his chin to his uncle.

Duo frowned. Perhaps he was looking too deeply into things, but the atmosphere suddenly turned chilly as soon as the walrus man addressed his nephew.

Heero's suspicion couldn't be true... Could it?

Petunia surprised Duo by suddenly turning vicious, her face a shadow of the doting mother she once was. "Then go upstairs and wash up, you useless little beggar! I'll not have you bringing even more filth into this house."

Harry looked wearily at Duo before turning abruptly at stomping up the stairs, presumably to wash up. Duo was frozen in his place, his eyes widening incredulously.

Once Harry was out of sight, Petunia immediately adopted her role as the doting mother once again, urging her son and 'Dana' into the living room while she and Vernon made use of the kitchen to finish the final preparations for dinner. After that, she and her walrus husband disappeared into the kitchen.

For a moment, there was silence.

"Those bastards," Draco whispered, sounding just as shell-shocked as Duo felt.

Duo narrowed his eyes, his hands tightening into trembling fists at his side. _Those bastards... are going to _pay.

The Dursleys were going to rue the day they ever stumbled across Duo Maxwell.

* * *

_**END CHAPTER FOUR**_

**(1) Damn, don't you just fucking hate my characterization of Dudley Dursley? I kind of wanted Duo to accidently shoot him and rid the HP universe of his presence entirely. Unfortunately, I kind of wanted to leave the murder of annoying people out of this mostly lighthearted fic. I contented myself with having Dudley unknowingly lust over a boy. :snickers wickedly: (Someday, I will kill Dudley Dursley off in a fic for the sheer joy of it. Someday.) He kind of reminds me of what my grandma always says. "Stupidity kills... but not enough to really help."**

**God, I love my grandma.**

**(2) As an afterthought, I spent a total of three hours trolling around in the inner psyche of Dudley Dursley. Will wash, and wash, but will never feel clean again. :shudders:**

**(3) And then I tried to get him laid! Oh, GOD... :vomits:**


	5. A Terrorist's Guide To Bloodless Revenge

**_Author's Notes:_** Okay, I'll be honest with you. I didn't really take the time to proofread this chapter. It's long, it was difficult to write, and I'm sick of looking at it. I'll probably go back and fix all the glaring errors later, if there are any. (I'm pretty certain there are, though.) I just want to dump this chapter on your doorstep and keep on walking.

I have a lot of things in store for this fic, but an ungodly amount of it happens during the summer. I'm hoping to finish the setup in three or four more chapters so I can finally get these obnoxious brats to Hogwarts, and I can start on the REAL story. Gah... I should have just covered the summer in an entirely different fic, but I hadn't wanted to make this thing a bloody epic. Heheh... Too late.

I also decided to turn a blind eye to angst. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't write angst to save my life. Well, I could -it just puts me in a foul mood. I like happy, smiley Caps a lot more than moping, moody Caps, so the angst I promised you was avoided to the best of my ability.

A very heartwarming thank you to all of you who have taken the time to review. Keep 'em coming, all of you lovely people -your response is the whip that cracks ominously in the background of my mind as I endlessly toil away trying to give you what meager, homely stuff I have to offer. Kisses to all!

On with the show!

**PS**  
I apologize for the long wait and, as a way to win your hearts back, offer you a chapter that has thirty percent more than any other chapter. (Teeheeh, I feel like I'm selling a product. :_sheepish grin_:) Enjoy!

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Five**_

* * *

****

Duo Maxwell was a man on a mission. Well... technically he was a skirt-wearing, face painted, faking-a-husky-falsetto-voice kind of man on a mission, but that didn't make his mission any less imperative in as much as it made the situation just a tad more ridiculous than it honestly should have been. The mere fact that, yes, the inevitability that Duo would ever find himself on a mission in a dress had come to pass, and the irony should have at least tamed the wild fury of finding out one of his new friends was being horribly mistreated by his family.

Nonetheless, Duo was very close to losing his temper and unleashing an unholy hell on the Dursleys.

His new friend's situation was, in fact, because of the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself, leader of the secret organization that pitted against Voldemort (and damn what the Ministry of Magic had to say about it) and the official knowledgeable old guy that Harry had to actually _work_ with, which just seemed like a slap in the face, in Duo's opinion. Harry didn't need Dumbledore; Dumbledore needed _Harry_. Therefore, Duo surmised that Dumbledore had no right to demand the Gryffindor Golden Boy stay in such dangerous, soul-crushing atmosphere in the first place.

Duo planned to have a very long, very stern talk with Dumbledore about priorities and where Dumbledore's were when it came to Harry's safety mentally and emotionally as much as he cared about Harry physically. The planned discussion wouldn't be happening any time in the near future, however, as Duo felt he wouldn't be rational enough in explaining _why_ he thought the Headmaster was a manipulative bastard that had subtler evil qualities that rivaled the freaking Dark Lord. If Duo approached Dumbledore before he had an opportunity to calm down, he would most likely go straight to name-calling, punctuated with the frequent use of deplorable words not fit for the faint of heart.

Meanwhile, if Dudley Dursley didn't back out of Duo's personal space soon, the American was going to throttle the pig with his hair (for lack of convenient substitutes for Duo to utilize in slowly strangling someone with a neck that thick until said victim stopped twitching).

Where the hell was Harry? It'd been fifteen minutes. Who took fifteen minutes to wash up and change into clean clothes, anyway?

"Are you even listening to me?" the pig demanded, looking at Duo shrewdly.

"Of course I am," Duo murmured absently.

"He's talking about Mega Mutilator Four," Trowa said tiredly. Duo didn't blame the quiet boy. Ten minutes of listening to Dudley freaking Dursley enjoy the sensation of feeling wind on his teeth as he spilled his life story and ramble on about his hobbies would make anyone cranky. Draco had almost begged Duo to silently disable the listening charm that was placed on a small earring subtly clipped to the upper cartilage of his left ear. Duo refused, theorizing that if he had to suffer through the endless prattling of a truly uninteresting human being, by God, everyone else was going to have to suffer, too.

But thank _God_ Trowa had actually been listening, or Duo would have missed the opportunity to subtly slight the wannabe Lothario. "He admitted difficulty in beating the boss on level thirteen."

Duo smothered a grin. _Perfect_. "Did you know there's a cheat code for that level?"

The pig perked up, his face brightening in interest. "Really?"

"Spirits, what a simpleton," Draco muttered in disgust. Duo couldn't agree more.

"Alt-Shift desperation. Enter," Duo said primly, smiling innocently and fluttering his eyelashes at the pig. "If you do that right before you get to the boss, something will happen to your health, ammo, and first aid kits. This code has helped me beat that tricky super-mechoid on numerous occasions."

It was true that Duo wasn't an avid fan of video games. He was entirely too active to actually sit down for long periods of time and rot away in front of a screen while he could be doing something better, like replacing all of Trowa's shampoo with super glue and throwing naughty red socks in with Wufei's white clothes. However, he was no stranger to playing shoot-'em-up games on Heero's laptop, and, what with his excellent hand eye coordination, he knew how to win rather spectacularly at them.

"Desperation mode" was a rather misleading term, which was why the code was so brilliant. The name implied that there would be a rapid increase in first aid kits, health, and ammunition. The actual purpose of the code was to make the game more challenging, and it was the mode in which Duo often played. Ammunition was at a bare minimal, one good hit to the player could end it all, and there were absolutely no first aid kits.

He'd given the code to the pig while implying that it would be in some way beneficial to Dudders' plight while it, in fact, did the complete opposite. It was petty, but damn it, it made Duo smile a little.

Twenty minutes. Where the hell was Harry?

"Dinner is ready," sing-songed the horse-faced woman merrily, sweeping into the living room like the perfect hostess. She clasped her long, spindly fingers together under her chin as she smiled coyly at Duo and Dudley sharing the same couch. "Oh, it's so lovely to see young love these days."

Duo resisted the urge to stare blankly at the woman. Young love? He'd known Dudley for less than an hour and he already foresaw much disappointment in the Dursley matriarch's future.

"Is she joking?" Draco shrieked indignantly in Duo's magically enhanced ear piece, causing the American to flinch not only at the volume of it echoing painfully in his middle ear, but also because Draco was actually indignant on Duo's behalf. "It's impossible to fall in love in under an hour! Spirits, what kind of knut-store smut does she _read_?"

"How do you know she reads smut?" Heero asked curiously; the Japanese boy was probably more interested in knowing how he could have missed making the same assessment and not Draco's actual reply.

"Look at her. Tall, thin, ugly as sin, an equally vulgar husband, and a stupid son. She has to escape reality somehow, and it must be through trashy romance novels."

"... Hn."

Duo was just being lead into the foyer towards the dining room when he was lucky enough to catch sight of Harry fleeing what the American had assumed was the bathroom. Unfortunately, his intentions didn't appear to be heading downstairs; instead, the Boy Who Lived seemed to be making a beeline for a room at the end of the second-story hallway.

"Won't Harry be joining us for dinner?" Duo blurted suddenly. He couldn't believe his friend would willingly leave him in the tender mercies of the Dursleys by himself. Harry couldn't possibly be that cruel.

Oddly enough, Petunia and Dudley hesitated at Duo's innocent question, and Harry's escape was eventually cut short. The Golden Boy appeared to be waiting for some kind of signal from the matron, who's lips pressed together thinly in obvious disapproval.

"Ah, Harry doesn't really enjoy eating with the rest of the family," Petunia said slowly, staring up the landing with snapping blue eyes that silently dared Harry to say otherwise. In other words, the explanation reeked of bullshit.

That was okay. Duo could weave some incredible acting out of one-hundred percent manufactured BS, too. He put a delicate-looking hand against his painted lips with a small gasp, his eyes wide and despondent. Regretfully, he murmured, "Oh, my... I'm putting you at an inconvenience, aren't I? There really isn't enough for five... I'm so sorry, I don't know why I would expect you to be prepared for a surprise guest for dinner... I'm such a terrible guest! I should just go..." Add in the appearance of some crocodile tears, and...

"Mum!" Dudley hissed whiningly, apparently not yet willing to allow his prey to leave. Hook, line, and sinker.

Petunia forced a comforting smile. "Of course not, dear! There's plenty of food. In fact, I'm sure Harry will oblige you in joining us for dinner this evening. Won't you, _Harry_?" In the If Looks Could Kill category, Petunia Dursley's pointed glare at Harry was a weak level one glower, at best. Of course, how could the horse-faced woman compete with such stiff competition like Heero Yuy and Chang Wufei, whose death glares usually rated at least a level eight or higher?

"Genius," Wufei noted, sounding rather impressed with Duo for turning that situation around.

"No one ever said that Duo is a fool," Quatre added; Duo could almost hear the smile beaming on the blond's face.

"... That's not quite true," Heero admitted grudgingly, probably remembering the earlier days when the rest of the pilots had neglected to realize Duo's subtle brilliance. Hell, Wufei didn't even consider the possibility that Duo had a brain between his ears until the braided boy kicked his butt at Scrabble by whipping out the word 'floccinaucinihilipilification.' The American proceeded to spend thirty minutes trying to convince the irate Chinese youth that floccinaucinihilipilification was an actual word in the English language, and Wufei was just being a sore loser by denying the word its rightful place in the English dictionary.

"I mean, how can you _not_ know what floccinaucinihilipilification is? You do it all the time!" Duo had insisted, which only sent Wufei in search of a dictionary just to make sure Duo wasn't insulting him.(1)

"If you insist," Harry said drolly, only marginally respectful of his aunt. As the green-eyed boy climbed down the stairs, he gave Duo a meaningful glance that clearly read that Duo wasn't going to like the result of forcing the Dursleys to invite him to dinner. The American was under the impression that, like all of his friends, if he was going to have to suffer the attention of the freaking Dursleys, he certainly wasn't going to be the only one. However, he did feel pity that Harry had to put up with them on a daily basis, either until school started or Dumbledore allowed him to leave this hell hole. Besides, Duo needed to know the extent of the abuse before he jumped the gun and punished them in a manner that wasn't befitting the crime, and what better way to judge their punishment than through proof?

The muscles in Duo's right-hand trigger finger convulsed spastically of its own will at the thought of Harry having to do more than tolerate rude behavior and overly sharp reprimands. Instead of showing his ire, however, he meekly bowed his head and shyly said, "Well, if he's okay with that... I don't mean to put anyone at an inconvenience..."

"It's quite alright, dear," Petunia said with a nervous chuckle, her tight smile clearly forced and strained. "Quite alright... Ahm. Come now, this way. Mr. Dursley is probably wondering why we're taking so long."

"She called him 'Mr. Dursley'," Draco said slowly. "... Ew."

Then Quatre surprised them all by saying, "That did seem rather hokey, didn't it?"

Duo covered a surprised laugh with a dainty cough before sweeping gracefully after the horse, a faint smile of amusement tilting the corner of his lips. His eyes were gleamed with the calming familiarity of inner laughter, successfully driving away the dark shadows of fury that once plagued him internally. His sudden good humor was actually a relief, and he suspected that it was more than Quatre's subtle little insult towards Petunia Dursley that brought about the better side of Duo. It must have taken Quatre quite a bit of energy to empathically soothe Duo's furious inner demon from such a distance.

There was a subtle bittersweet shift in Duo's smile. There were very important reasons as to why the American rarely lost his temper; when he _really_ lost his temper. Realizing that a friend was less than happy with his home life was exactly the kind of moral injustice that fueled his burning temper. The more volcanic the Americans temper became, the closer Shinigami clawed to the surface. When Duo's fury reached the Inferno stage...

Goodbye, cruel world.

And all of the hell Shinigami wreaked would be done with a wide grin and dead eyes. Duo owed Quatre a lot more than anybody realized.

By the time he'd decided to focus back on the current situation he was settling in a chair that coincidentally sat along the length of the table, sharing space with another occupant; Dudley Dursley's (almost) beefcake-y stature nearly took up more than half of the table, and Duo almost moaned despondently at how close they would be. Duo didn't care if it spoiled everything; if the pig even thought of playing footsie with the American, Duo was going to shoot them all and keep on walking.

The horse chose to sit close to her walrus husband, who graced the head of the table. This left two empty chairs; Harry quickly took the seat directly across from the walrus and catty-corner to Duo. The walrus frowned, his face starting to color with early signs of irritation. Petunia was quick to silently soothe her husband, her expression fairly begging the man not to... what? Question Harry's presence? To actually have to look at Harry while he attempted to enjoy his meal?

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

"Duo, please, you're getting yourself worked up again..."

The American slowly inhaled, forcing himself to calm down before he exhaled again. He couldn't flip out over every little glare of contempt and irritation. It was rather obvious that the Dursleys didn't like Harry. That was fine; Duo could deal with that. He needed to know if the level of maltreatment went beyond that.

After calming her husband, Petunia sent a firm glare in Harry's direction, as if she wanted to demand that the Gryffindor take the only other empty available so the walrus wouldn't have to suffer too much. However, the only seat left was beside her; the urge to keep her distance from Harry far outweighed the comfort of her husband.

Christ. She was acting like Harry had some sort of communal disease. Had she always been like that to Harry? Had she always been reluctant to actually touch Harry, as if he would somehow pass on leprosy? Duo wondered how that sort of attitude would have impacted Harry as an infant, which probably hadn't been the best idea. The thought only made his boiling temper even more difficult to control.

"_Duo_."

Damn it, this was harder than he'd originally anticipated.

After breaking her doom stare from Harry, she quickly wielded an insultingly false smile of charm that made Duo want to hurl. "I hope you three brought your appetites," she said coyly. Duo was sure she was doing her best to cut Harry out of the happy family portrait they were trying to set up, but her actions only made her appear mathematically challenged.

Portraying an image of the perfect housewife, Petunia began serving the meal, starting with Dudley. She chose to serve Duo next, and the American barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation when the pig immediately began to wolf down the meal, not even bothering to wait for the rest of them had food on their plates.

"He has deplorable table etiquette," Draco murmured scathingly. "Spirits, I shouldn't scold Harry so much on his bad manners. Look at the example this family is setting! It's only polite to serve the guest first, and no one should raise a fork until the last person is served." A pause. "Muggles really are uncultured."

"Trust me, Black," Wufei said cooly. "They're deplorable by muggle standards, as well. I've never seen such honorless dogs in my entire life." Apparently, Duo wasn't the only one who noticed all the subtle glares that the three Dursleys seemed to be unconsciously shooting at Harry.

Duo's eyes widened marginally when he noticed that Harry's plate didn't have a third of the food that everyone else had. Many things happened at once.

Something _slammed_ against Duo's chest just as a hazy emptiness of pure, uncultured rage clouded his mind.

The freshly washed glasses that had yet to be removed from the drainer and put away exploded loudly, putting a halt on all conversation and drawing the horrified attention of the Dursleys. If Duo had actually been paying attention, he would have noticed that Harry suddenly looked nervous.

"Duo!" Quatre gasped, sounding pained. "Duo, you need to calm down. Duo, calm down!"

Duo forced himself to relax his white-knuckled grip on the rather sharp knife he had been given for the roast. It was heart-wrenching, hearing pain in Quatre's voice. He had to calm down. He couldn't lose his cool.

He couldn't lose his cool.

"What was...?" Duo began lamely, honestly confused by the glasses' sudden explosion.

"Accidental magic," Draco explained quietly. "People our age rarely experience it anymore; it's more of a condition from childhood. When potential wizards and witches become extremely emotional, they're magic tends to lash out. It shouldn't be surprising that Duo displayed accidental magic; he hasn't been training long enough to control that aspect yet."

When Draco's explanation ended, Duo tuned in just in time to hear Petunia try to sputter a reasonable excuse as to why her dishes suddenly decide to break on their own, the walrus' face darkened dangerously as he glared at Harry.

"Boy," the man growled, giving his nephew a vicious look.

"I didn't do it," Harry said immediately, meeting the walrus' threatening glare with a stubborn set to his chin.

Petunia laughed nervously, attempting to play off the situation by simpering, "Of course Harry couldn't have -how could he?- I mean..."

"Dad," the pig hissed urgently. "Make him stop."

"Go to your room," the walrus grounded out through gritted teeth, adding gruffly, "And you can just forget about getting any supper tonight, boy."

_Slam_. Duo was already diving when Quatre cried out his name, his arm catching the green-eyed boy and bringing him down to the floor just as the light fixture above the table shattered in a glorious burst of sparks as the very bulbs exploded. Duo had just enough time to cover Harry's body with his own before tiny shards of glass showered the entire area, causing the Dursleys to cry out in alarm as they each belated tried to move out of harms way.

Once the chaos began to subside, Duo scrambled off of Harry with a mumbled apology. Whatever else he had to say was cut short by the sudden appearance of Vernon, standing over them with a look of wrath twisting his sweaty, bloated face. The walrus-like man reached down and wrapped a meaty hand tightly around Harry's upper arm, dragging the boy to his feet and forcefully hauling the Gryffindor into the privacy of the living room.

"Duo, please... _Duo!_"

Duo saw red.

"Don't do anything you'll regret! Duo!"

"Maxwell!"

"Kill the muggles!"

"_Damn it, Draco, you are not helping!_"

That did it. The American's anger subsided marginally when he realized just exactly who exploded at Draco this time.

"... Trowa, would you be angry with me if I told you your boyfriend's hot when he's angry?"

"Why do you think I like to keep that side of him to myself?"

A pause. "Oh, for the love of..." Wufei could be heard mumbling, irritated by yet another reminder that all of the boys he was staying with were gay; _and_ that they were bringing another boyfriend into the mix.(2)

Duo finally threw his head back and laughed, ignorant of Petunia and Dudley's scrambling attempts to explain what was going on.

_**----------**_

"It wasn't me," Harry protested, attempting to wrench his arm from his uncle's meaty grip as the man dragged him into the living room, away from making a scene in front of a guest. His struggling did no good, and his uncle successfully pulled him into the living room before whirling to face his nephew, his face glowing purple with fury. What made the round man's violet face glow was the layer of sweat that seemed to be pouring from Vernon's pours.

Harry hadn't seen this particular show of "pissed to the extent where actually beating the freak boy is worth the risk of touching him and being contaminated with his freakishness" fury; coincidentally, Uncle Vernon only displayed his anger so totally when Harry, whether accidentally or purposefully, did anything remotely resembling magic in front of other people. The Dursley family had certainly spent a great deal of their time and attention to how normal they appeared to the outside world, never realizing that their many ways of showing off their normality was abnormal in itself. The Dursleys were so far in denial that there honestly wasn't any hope of inviting them to reality soon.

"What have I said, boy?" Uncle Vernon half-whispered, half-bellowed. The way in which his uncle chose to speak only emphasized his rage; the fact he almost could not mask his fury for fear that their guest would hear almost wasn't enough to make the effort to bellow. "No freaky business in my house, especially around normal people who are lucky enough to not know how much of a freak you are!"

"And I'm telling you that it wasn't me!" Harry shot back, his angry green eyes locking defiantly with Vernon's own brown eyes, bloodshot due to the sudden increase in his blood pressure. For one tense moment, Harry thought his uncle was actually going to hit him for doing so; the beefy man had his hand almost halfway in the air, rearing back to strike when a savage voice stopped him cold.

"_I_ did it."

Vernon froze, and the both uncle and nephew turned to look toward the doorway. Despite "Dana's" carefully cultivated appearance of being adorably normal yet still appear so beautifully innocent, the implied threat of ruthless violence in "her" voice actually frightened him to a certain degree. Duo's acting skills had been flawless while pretending to be sweet, virginal Dana Kinsley, and while some lingering mask of Dana was still present, a predator lurked behind his kohl-accented eyes.

Duo was still smiling... but it wasn't a nice smile. The wand pointed steadily at Vernon proved it.

Vernon's grip tightened painfully around Harry's biceps, and the Gryffindor struggled to cover his wince of pain. Harry had known Duo wouldn't take well to the Dursleys -in fact, he'd hoped for it, if only to see the American skillfully plot to get back at the Dursleys before he had to leave. However, he hadn't expected Duo to go so far as to pull his wand on the Dursleys; combined with the dangerous intent gleaming in Duo's amethyst eyes, showing any sign of discomfort because of the grip would be akin to signing Vernon Dursley's death warrant.

"You invited one of your freak friends over?" Vernon hissed, glaring at Harry once more.

"I didn't invite hi-her over," Harry said stiffly, trying to convey through eyes and facial features alone that pissing Duo off wasn't the brightest idea. "She wanted to surprise me for my birthday!"

"Oi," Duo called lazily, drawing their attention away from each other. "Please remember who has the wand, fat man. Now let Harry go before you do something stupid and force me to transform you into something useful." Duo smirked wickedly. "I hear baby seals' skins are all the fad amongst the rich these days."

"I know your rules!" Vernon thundered, gripping Harry's arm so tightly that the Gryffindor couldn't hold back the merest of twitches. Duo narrowed his eyes dangerously, but Vernon was far too furious to notice. "You're still in school. You can't do magic without being expelled!"

"I'm seventeen," Duo retorted. "I'm legal and can do whatever the hell I want."

That little tidbit certainly put an abrupt pause on whatever Vernon was going to say next; however, Harry felt that the man had focused on something other than the implications of harm that Duo was trying to allude to. Instead, the rotund man turned his infuriated gaze back to Harry.

"You can do magic now? No chance of expulsion from that blasted school filled with people like _you_?"

What Harry said next was probably influenced by many sources that didn't include Draco Black. For one, it could have been his very Gryffindor nature finally presenting itself to the Dursleys after many years of oppression and belittlement. In fact, it could have also been the pent up resentment over the injustice of being treated poorly for no reason other than petty intolerance, even though Harry hadn't known he was a wizard until Hagrid told him on the fateful night of his eleventh birthday. Those were two solid reasons for the words that came out of his mouth that clearly did not include Draco Black in any way, shape, or form.

Still, Harry was almost certain that the sudden desire to lift his chin arrogantly and sneer arctically at the man as he spoke was completely and utterly Draco's fault. "So this day _does_ exist to you. Oh, I'm so overjoyed that you now see me worthy enough to realize I turned seventeen today. Happy birthday to me."

Lights suddenly exploded behind his eyes as the very ground was swept out from under his feet only milliseconds before crippling pain enveloped one whole side of his face and head. The ringing in his ears seemed to echo cavernously as the blackness that seemed to encircle his faded vision slowly retracted.

Harry dazedly realized that not only had his glasses suddenly disappeared from his face, but he was lying on the floor. He didn't even remember falling in the first place. It took even longer to realize that the house was deadly quiet save for his uncle's labored breathing. At first, Harry assumed that his uncle was panting because of his sudden exertion of anger. (Harry belatedly realized that Vernon actually struck him so hard and quickly that Harry didn't even remembering flying to the floor because of the strength behind it, nor did he even see the blow coming.) After taking a moment to push himself into a slumped, seated position on the floor and gather his wits, he distinctly heard a different pitch of breathing. Instead of sounding enraged, his uncle sounded... panicked.

Without the aid of his glasses, Harry could barely make out the expression on his uncle's face. Sharp angles were difficult to make out because of his vision impairment, and it was doubly so the farther the object or person he was attempting to focus on. However, color was a different matter. While color was not as vibrant and clear as with the aid of his glasses, Harry could clearly see that his uncle's face had lost it's violet hue. In fact, the man was completely blanched and shaky. Harry could see that the man's hand, painted bright red with the same fluid that smeared across his forehead and nose, was trembling violently.(3)

Harry suddenly heard Aunt Petunia shriek weakly, as if so frightened that her throat had constricted painfully around her vocal cords. Duo was even further away from him than Uncle Vernon was, so Harry had no hopes of making out his facial features; he did, however, notice that the blocky, black shape Duo was pointing at Uncle Vernon couldn't have been a wand.

"If I ever see you raise a hand to him again, you'll _wish_ that hadn't been a warning shot." Duo's voice was low, raspy, and filled with so much cold aloofness that Harry was momentarily frightened of the normally jubilant American.

"You shot me," Vernon gasped frantically. "You _shot_ me!"

"It's a flesh wound," Duo scoffed mercilessly, tossing his head, his loose hair ruffling behind him. "It won't even need stitches.

"See, I realized you weren't taking me very seriously with a wand," Duo continued, some form of warmth returning to his voice. The sudden attempt of congeniality only belied the ice that ran underneath his words. "Why would you, when you apparently believe that you're so superior over people who happen to have magic that you would risk a potentially fatal curse from me -and believe me, after the library I've been privy to over the summer, I know a lot of fatal curses. Big mistake on your part. But I digress.

"Since I believe the chances of you taking me seriously drastically increase with the presence of a gun, which is a dangerous weapon you're quite a bit more familiar with, I decided to utilize this method. I'm sure you realize just how deadly a firearm can be, especially in the hands of a teenaged terrorist who doesn't really mind killing degenerate pigs like you."

_Oh, God_, Harry thought feverishly, searching the carpet frantically for his black frames. _He didn't..._ Finally his hand came to rest on his black-rimmed glasses, and he absently slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. He winced when the ear piece lightly scraped the left side of his tender, throbbing face, already knowing that almost the aching area was swelling and bruising. When he looked to Duo, his breath caught in his throat. _He did!_

Duo was holding a gun. Harry cast a second glance at his uncle, his glasses bringing sharp clarity to the profusely bleeding cut on Vernon's brow.

"This is _much_ better," Duo cooed, the black gun gleaming dully in the light of the living room. "See? Now you know just how serious I am, which is good for both of us. You'll live longer, and I won't have to worry about adding another tally to my already extensive death count."

When no comment was forthcoming from Vernon, Harry sneaked a quick peek at the beefy man's face. Vernon's lips were pressed thinly together, an obvious sign to his frustration. However, the man's eyes jumped nervously from Duo's gun to Duo, only to end the quick inspection with a sharp warning glance at Harry.

Harry quickly scrambled to his feet and took great care to move far out of the man's reach. His vision swam violently, and he thought he was going to pass out. After taking a short moment to collect his wits once more, he steadied himself and exhaled deeply until his stomach settled.

"Harry, we have two options," Duo said calmly, his eyes never leaving Vernon Dursley's sweating face. "You find some duct tape and bind the horse, the walrus, and the pig at the ankles and wrists. You'll use whatever remains to wrap them firmly on that couch. That will leave me free to help you pack all of your belongings so we can sneak out back and Portkey out of here. The second option is that you go straight to packing while I hold down the fort -maybe have a little chat about treating someone as important as family with the common respect he deserves. Or maybe I'll tell them exactly how much it would please me to kill them slowly. Who knows? And _then_ you can find duct tape and follow the previous procedure. Either way, you're coming home with me."

Duo paused. "Personally, you would probably rather pick the first option."

"It's the same choice," Harry said with the frown. At first he thought Duo was calmly pretending he was giving Harry a choice in whether he'd be leaving or not; if that were the case, why would Duo be so explicit as to further encourage Harry to pick one he'd be more comfortable with.

"The second choice would..." There! For maybe all of a millisecond, a chink cracked the carefully constructed mask of a perfectly reasonable human being, and Harry got to see a part of Duo he'd only glimpsed briefly on exceedingly rare occasions. While Duo never seemed to run out of his goofy smiles and crafty quips, people often forgot that Duo was largely capable of feeling an entirely different range of emotions; when the smiles fell away and the quips came to a stop was a critical, dangerous time. Losing a mask that was almost second nature to craft in the first place only meant that Duo was feeling something else more strongly, be it love or care or concern.

In this case, Duo was _furious_. And that only meant that an entirely different aspect of the American was in full control.

Harry didn't know how to describe the American's duel personality, though he firmly believed his friend had named himself quite appropriately. The Gryffindor was fun-loving, moral, considerate, inspiring, and had an easy-going demeanor that encouraged almost everyone to like him. He honestly had no enemies with anyone at school, if only because his insistent ignorance of house walls erected since the very beginning. It wasn't that any had neglected to inform Duo of such social discretions, but that he didn't really care about a tradition that encouraged people to view others differently based on such vague references to who they were in character. Duo understood more about the people he knew then those same people did about themselves, and he knew exactly what to do and how to react in accordance with what he understood of them. He honestly had few enemies.

Because of Duo's easy-going approach, people often mistook him as nonmalignant. Harry slowly learned over time that being charismatic and being harmless were two completely different things. The Gryffindor was everyone's best friend when he was content. However, when something came along that struck a chord with his firm resolve to protect his friends to the best of his ability, Duo could be ruthlessly calculating and coldly violent. It was a side to Duo that Harry had only heard about secondhand.

'_When he loses that act and actually gets serious is when he gets unpredictable,'_ the green-eyed boy recalled reading in one of the first letters he received from Draco at the beginning of the holiday. '_If he is in survival mode, there is nothing he will not do to insure his safety and the safety of his friends. However, he also knows exactly what to use to his advantage, and if that means taking hostages, he will do it in a heartbeat. He will apologize for going to such extremes, but on the same breath he will assure his enemies that he will go to the extent of shooting his leverage if that means putting someone else at an inconvenience. As much unease as it caused me at the time, in retrospect, I cannot help but respect him for it. It is a move worthy of a Slytherin's ideals._

'_But when he gets angry... I've never seen him completely lose his temper, but...,' _Draco had continued on in his graceful script, the words seemingly purposefully thought out so as not to reveal anything. '_I suspect there is a reason Duo is so easy to befriend, Harry.'_

Duo continued softly, "If you leave me alone with them... Harry, I don't want to scare you."

_There is a reason Duo is so easy to befriend, Harry..._ Because Duo felt fury just as passionately as love; but where love seemed to be handled with such simple ease for Duo, his fury was unpredictable and malicious.

"There should be duct tape in the cupboard," Harry said helpfully, maneuvering carefully around Duo, as the American didn't seem too much in a hurry to move. He soon figured out why; while Duo had a gun trained on Uncle Vernon, his other hand was gripped tightly at the handle of his wand, the tip pointing directly at the huddling forms of Dudley and Aunt Petunia.

"You two," Duo said briskly, jerking the wand to indicate what he wanted them to do. "Move into the living room and sit on the couch. You too, walrus man. On the couch."

Harry was already rifling through the cupboard in search of a roll of duct tape when Aunt Petunia and Dudley scrambled to follow orders. He could hear Uncle Vernon uselessly blither about how Duo and Harry couldn't hope to get away with kidnaping and holding them hostage in their own home.

"Try me," was Duo's calm retort.

"Found it," Harry said, finally spotting not one, but two rolls of duct tape hidden under a box of broken toys that Dudley couldn't bring himself to throw away.

"We'll use them both," Duo said cheerfully, sparing a quick glance toward Harry's prizes. "Remember, Harry -wrists, ankles, and around the couch. The extra precaution isn't only to insure that they don't escape, but to make damn sure they'll be really uncomfortable when someone finds them.

"Now you three," Duo continued, addressing the Dursleys with a devilish smirk, "no twitching or fidgeting that would make Harry's task difficult. Yes, that means you, walrus man. I'm perfectly capable of shooting both of your kneecaps. God knows I won't be losing any sleep over it."

In retrospect, Harry had to admit to feeling a certain amount of satisfaction when he finally had the opportunity to wrap two layers of duct tape all the way around his uncle's head and mouth. He'd been trying for years to covertly shut the man up, though the Gryffindor never imagined he'd be achieving his dream because of something as muggle as duct tape.

Two rolls of duct tape later, Duo inspected the Dursleys makeshift cocoon with a satisfied nod. "They're firmly secured. Good job, Harry. Draco should be pleased with your skills for future kinky endeavors."

Harry blinked at the American, staring when the boy winced and tilted his head to the side in a brief flash of pain. "What?" ... What in the world did tying up the Dursleys have to do with Draco?

"The voices in my head are getting a little uppity," Duo said with a wide grin, finally sliding the gun back into the holster hidden under the back of his shirt. "C'mon. Let's get you packed and blow this popsicle stand."

"You're so cliche American," Harry thought he would mention offhandedly as he took to the stairs, Duo following close behind him.

"At least I make sense," Duo said glibly, grinning from ear to ear. "I've heard Cockney, Harry. It sounds like the prototype to Mad Libs."

Harry chuckled and shook his head. It was nice to know his friends never really changed.

_**----------**_

Harry's room was... acceptable. Well, the little bedroom was acceptable in that it would function wonderfully as a utility room of some sort. Almost all available shelf-space was taken up by broken toys and forgotten books; Duo suspected the items lining the shelves weren't even Harry's because the Gryffindor completely overlooked everything except for what was stashed in his trunk, his tiny wardrobe, and a cubby hole under his bed. Harry was easily throwing his meager possessions into his school trunk under the guidance of the tiny lamp that sat on the little working desk next to the bed, as it appeared that the overhead light had been forsaken as a lost cause years ago. The room was a bit stuffy, and it looked like Harry had been attempting to circulate fresh air in the room by keeping the window cracked.

"Don't bother," Harry mumbled when Duo squeezed passed him, clearly hoping to raise the window a little more. "Uncle Vernon fixed it so that it won't go up any higher. He didn't want Hedwig or any other owls coming as they pleased."

"No wonder Duster always looked disgruntled when he comes back from delivering a letter to Harry," Draco mused out loud. "I can't imagine he'd have any fun trying to squeeze through a slot that narrow."

"No offense, Harry," Duo said, jumping on the rickety bed so Harry could better move throughout the tiny room, "but your room feels like a storage closet."

Harry snorted.

"My cockpit is bigger than that," Heero grunted.

"Your _what_?" Draco yelped, agog. Harry turned and stared at Duo when the boy began to laugh helplessly on the bed.

"Cockpit. Noun. A compartment for the pilot and crew in an aircraft or spacecraft." Heero snorted, and Duo could just imagine him shaking his head at the blond Slytherin. "Draco, do I honestly look like the type of person who would make lewd, suggestive jokes?"

"Just making sure. That's such a... misleading word."

"Hn."

Still chuckling to himself, Duo launched off the bed and shot for the open door. When he reached the doorway, he paused and said lightly, "I've _got_ to wash this crap off of my face. My pores feel like they've been clogged with grease. Don't women usually wear this stuff to cover up blemishes? It sort of defeats the purpose when this makeup stuff seems to cause them."

"Draco was right," Harry noted with an amused smile. "You have been spending too much time with him. He's the only man I know who complains about how silky smooth his skin is supposed to be."

"Hey..." It didn't take a genius to realize that Draco was pouting.

Duo preened outrageously, fluttering his eyelashes at Harry as he replied glibly, "He's just afraid I'll take his place as the world's snarkiest pretty rich kid."

"Keep dreaming, hamster boy."

With Harry's laughter echoing behind him, Duo made an immediate beeline for the bathroom at the end of the hall. He thoroughly scrubbed his face, and he found himself a bit irritated when the mascara and eyeliner smeared around his eyes and refused to come off. When only faint traces of darkness remained, Duo gave it up as a lost cause and immediately made use of what appeared to be Petunia Dursley's hairbrush.

He winced when the coarse brush caught a particularly nasty tangle. That was the problem with leaving his hair down for prolonged periods of time; inevitably, Duo would have to take the time to sit down and battle the numerous tangles that would accumulate, armed only with a hairbrush and sheer stubbornness.

After he conquered over the evil tangles, he swiftly swept his hair into its usual braid, only this time he took his typical hairstyle a little farther. He rolled the braid around his head and pinned it firmly into place with a few spare bobby-pins sitting on the tile counter top surrounding the sink. When Duo was absolutely sure his hair was secure, he reached into the left cup of his brazier and swiftly pulled on the two high-end latex gloves that were stored there.

He knelt on the ground, pulling the cabinet doors under the sink open to inspect the content.

"... What is he doing?"

"Exactly what he's supposed to do," Wufei replied to Draco's flat inquiry. "Duo is about to scrub every surface of that bathroom, especially around the sink and faucet. After finishing the bathroom, he's going to throw away the hairbrush and the wash cloth, take the trash downstairs, and level it in the kitchen. While there, he's going to be a good guest and scrub down the kitchen and, while he's at it, take the trash from there, as well. Then he's going to find a vacuum cleaner and some surface cleaners and wipe off the phone, the table the phone is sitting on, and vacuum the foyer for good measure. He's going to do the same in the living room."

"Duo can't leave a trace of himself behind," Quatre added helpfully. "One strand of hair, one partial finger print, even drops of sweat... Muggles have the technology and the knowhow to collect such evidence and analyze it to the point that, should Duo's hair or blood appear at any other crime scene, the authorities will actually be able to match the evidence from two different places.

"Duo wants to stay off the grid as much as possible. His DNA and fingerprints from a prior incident are already on record, but his crime would have to be on a much larger scale for anyone to gain access to his records. Permission to use those records to compare to any suspects would have to be granted by one person -the leader of the Preventers, Lady Une."

"Who eventually wants you five to become Preventers when you graduate Hogwarts," Draco said, a touch of understanding to his voice. "Badly enough that you're honorary Preventers already -you're just not getting paid yet. There's no way she would grant permission."

"It gets better," Trowa pointed out. "If someone were to go to the courts about the matter, the Vice-Foreign Minister Relena Dorlian would defend the rights to keep our records sealed. She's in a powerful position, and while many politicians don't like her approach to politics, few of them are willing to go against her on the matter. Too many people like her."

"Admirable," Draco said, clearly impressed. "You have a Vice-Foreign Minister, the head of the Preventer Organization, and the safety of puppies and Christmas on your side. Why do people like you always get the luck?"

"Karma?" Duo said lightly, finally tying off the trash bag after disposing of the hairbrush and the makeup stained wash cloth. He was placing the cleaners back in their proper place when something suddenly caught his eye.

"If you believe in spiritualism," Wufei said dryly. His tone was thoughtful when he added, "however, after getting used to the 'magic is real' scenario, I suppose I have a little more respect for religion as a whole."

"Only the Asian ones, I'm sure," Duo murmured, reaching out and taking the shiny black object from its resting place beside the sink. He considered it for a moment before sliding his thumb upwards.

The beard trimmer came to life in his hands.

"Duo," Quatre said warningly.

"What's that?" Draco piped up curiously. "What does that thing do? It looks like it does something marvelously devious, judging by how much hamster boy is admiring it."

Duo grinned evilly. "Shave and a haircut," he sang out, pulling the beard trimmer from its charger. "Two bits."

"It's never a straight answer with you, is it?" Draco said idly.

"Now I need glue, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, nuts, and a cherry," Duo said happily, whistling jauntily as he literally danced out of the bathroom, trash bag in hand. The American paused in the hallway before moon walking all the way to Harry's tiny bedroom, where it appeared that the boy was attempting to fit most of his belongings into a single trunk.

"Harry, do me a favor and clean your room," Duo said breezily.

"You want me to what?" the green-eyed Gryffindor asked, glancing over Duo's new look.

"Just trust me," Duo said, winking slowly. "Pay extra attention to anything you saw me touch. Oh, and you'll want to strip your bed and pack your sheets. Spotless, Harry. I'm counting on you!" The American proceeded to do an about face before once again moon-walking down the short hallway. He continued an ode to disco all the way down the stairs, pausing long enough to wave cheerfully at the Dursleys, who all froze in their struggles to escape their bonds as if they were five year olds caught doing something bad.

"I'll get to you three in a minute," Duo promised sweetly before twirling into the kitchen.

"Thank the spirits," Draco said airily. "I thought we were just going to leave them like that. I say, hamster boy -well done."

_**----------**_

Finally.

Harry let out a small huff of relief as he glanced around his room, inspecting every surface critically. He felt marginally better about having to save Aunt Petunia the trouble of fumigating any traces of him from the room when he'd heard Duo running the vacuum cleaner downstairs. Obviously, the boy had an ulterior reason for wanting Harry to clean his room; he suspected it would be something better to ask one of the others when he saw them next. Duo, while entirely honest, excelled in his life's goal to turn everything into a punch line while neglecting to offer a reason.

Though Duo's answer would probably be more entertaining.

The Gryffindor frowned, realizing belatedly that there was a distinct lack of sound coming from downstairs. He vaguely remembered hearing Duo's loud, cheerful humming and hadn't thought much of it until he realized: when Duo was quiet, he was obviously up to something. Something that was going to force Harry to shake his head in wonder.

Oh, God.

What did Duo do to the Dursleys?

_**----------**_

The voices in his head were strangely silent.

And then, "Heero?"

"Hn?"

"Would you be angry with me if I admit that I find your boyfriend extremely attractive right now?"

"... Only partially."

"Oh." Pause. "I can live with partially. Duo is _so_ bloody hot right now..."

"... I agree."

More silence.

"Freaks," Wufei muttered, surprising an explosive laugh out of Duo, if only out of sheer amusement that Wufei couldn't find a more adequate term to describe Heero and Draco's deviant attraction to a vengeful Duo Maxwell.

The Dursleys seemed to tremble in fear of the supposed girl laughing maniacally for no other reason than her hedonistic desire to humiliate them. Honestly, they were staring at him like it couldn't possibly have been much worse. They obviously hadn't realized just how vindictive Duo Maxwell (a.k.a. Dana Kinsley) could be.

Duo grinned when he heard Harry's choke of incredulity. The American whirled around, skirt fluttering madly about his legs as he did a small, feminine curtsy with a giggle. "Look, Harry -I gave Mr. Dursley a haircut!"

And indeed he had. Vernon Dursley's hair was a thing of the past. Oh, the man had struggled as much as he could when he saw Duo coming at him with a beard trimmer and a manic grin, but it didn't take long for the walrus to settle down and admit defeat. "Chunks of hair missing here and there," Duo said nonchalantly as locks of the man's hair fell to his bulky shoulders, neck, and the back of the couch. "Aw, having a nasty little wizard in the house must irritate you something fierce, Mr. Dursley! My, you pull your hair out enough to make your scalp bleed. Naughty!" All of this was said in a sickeningly sweet falsetto. Now the man had an extremely short crewcut that accented his rapidly receding hairline. Duo had allowed the bush mustache to remain unharmed in hopes that it would give the man the same stature as Mr. Monopoly, but he was just as satisfied when he realized the man looked more like a walrus than ever.

He hadn't wanted to take the time to tear away the duct tape surrounding his mouth, anyway. That might have given Dursley a chance to say something stupid and piss Duo off again.

"I see that," Harry said dazedly. "And... I'm sorry, did you put _glue_ in Aunt Petunia's hair?"

"I just wanted her outer appearance to match her inner appearance," Duo said loftily, waving a hand dismissively. With the aid of glue, Duo had stylized Petunia Dursley's hair in devilish horns, going as far as to shaping her bangs to create inverted horns. In his opinion, he'd done a marvelous job.

"... Ah. And... Dudley?"

Duo turned to consider his final masterpiece. Dudley Dursley had been reduced to a human ice cream sundae, without the ice cream. Chocolate syrup liberally covered the teenager's head, shoulders, and bound hands, followed by an enthusiastic layer of whipped cream, crushed nuts, rainbow-colored sprinkles, and a tiny cherry to top it all off.

"I wondered about the psychological response to being turned into a sundae," Duo replied dreamily. "There's a chance he'll be so emotionally scarred from being covered in the makings of a sundae that he'll actually refuse to eat them for the rest of his life. I'm doing him a favor, really."

"I see..." Finally, Harry the end of the trunk that he still held in his hands, shaking his head with a fond smile. "Never change."

"Don't you think I'd smell rather gamy after a while if I never changed? Then Draco would just have more to complain about. I swear, I can't win with you people."

That certainly got a laugh out of Harry. Proud of his accomplished goal, Duo dropped the bubbly-girl charade and raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Ready to go?"

"Yep," Harry said, pulling his wand and pointing it at his trunk.

"Let me do that," Duo said, removing his own wand from his sleeve and casting a shrinking charm on the trunk. "Even though we're seventeen, the Ministry of Magic still have you under magical surveillance. Any spell you would do would catch their attention. I, on the other hand, have taken advantage of Draco's astounding knowledge on how to get around the law. There's a spell on me and my wand that keeps me off the radar."

"Decades of avoiding getting caught would do that to a family," Harry said dryly, slipping his miniaturized trunk into his pocket.

"Decades? How small-scale. The Malfoys have been paying off government officials and tinkering around with dark magick for centuries," Draco boasted.

"Draco would like me to inform you that it's taken centuries for the Malfoys to protect their slimy underbellies from the authorities," Duo said sardonically. "You have to admit, the Malfoy Family does pretty good for getting away with hunting down and torturing muggles as a hobby." This, of course, was a deliberate jibe at the Dursleys, followed by a sly glance over his shoulder and an exaggerated wink.

"Draco?"

Duo laughed, pointing at his left eye. "You're on candid camera. Or, in this case, a specific scrying spell used mainly for wizarding espionage."

"Bet it's not legal," Harry almost sang, watching in amusement as Duo didn't bat an eyelid before making his swift reply.

"Useful as hell, though. Ah! One more thing."

The American turned to the Dursleys, a picture of innocence as he girlishly tilted his hat to the bound family. "I want to thank you so much for taking me into your home. Your hospitality was appreciated, and I mean that in the sincerest way possible." He then slowly glided to Dudley Dursley's side, a sultry smile on his lips as he added, "I especially want to thank you, _Dudders_. Why, what with the game you've got going on, I'm sure that the next time you come across a beautiful budding flower, you'll offer to pay first. I mean, that's the only way you could ever hope to get with anyone who is way out of your league."

Finally, as he hovered almost an inch away from the nervous boy's face, Duo moved slightly to the side and whispered only a scant inch from his ear, "You make me happy I'm not a girl. Truly."

For almost a full minute, Duo was afraid he had pushed the joke too far. Once the implications of Duo's words settled in, Dudley Dursley appeared as if he was going to be violently ill, which would have killed Duo's mood very quickly. The American had his doubts as to how hastily he could remove the duct tape wrapped entirely around the bulky teenager's head before Dudley gave up and forced himself to swallow the regurgitation, and the sight of that would have incited Duo to lose his dinner, too.

He shuddered. Ew.

Luckily, it didn't come to that.

After he was positive that the pig wouldn't make any undue messes, Duo pulled away and smiled winningly at Dudley. He didn't have to worry about the pig telling the authorities that Dana was a boy; that little fact would hurt his pride entirely too much to admit to anyone.

"Time to go," Duo trilled sweetly, going over and collecting the trash bags he'd sat near the door. He handed one of them to Harry.

"Hold on to that tightly, now," Duo reminded him primly. "We wouldn't want to lose it along the way." He especially didn't want to lose that particular bag, as it contained both the vacuum cleaner bag and the bullet Duo had painstakingly pulled from the plastered wall next to the fireplace mantel with the aid of tweezers he'd found going through the Dursleys' master bedroom.

He pulled his gun from its holster and offered for Harry to reach out and touch it. The Gryffindor laughed softly before saying, "The lot of you _would_ chose to make a gun into a Portkey."

"Never leave home without it," Duo said cheerfully. "Get a grip, now. _Mission accomplished._"

The words spoken triggered the magic, and the two boys disappeared from Number 4 Privet Drive, leaving a spotless home and Papa Dursley, Mama Dursley, and Baby Dursley all tied up and stuck firmly to the couch. They wouldn't be found for another two days, when Vernon Dursley failed to show up for work bright and early on Monday morning. By that time, the perishable junk food that covered the Dursley son would have gone rancid, and the glue that spiked the Dursley wife's once perfect blonde hair would be thoroughly hardened and difficult to remove from every strand.

The British authorities would be baffled for a short time before someone stopped to really analyze the events that transpired, according to the flustered family.

"She comes in, all sweet as you can be," one officer would say, "Then she sits down and eats a nice dinner with the family before showing them an entirely different side to her. She has the nephew bind them and, while he's busy packing all of his belongings, proceeds to scrub the home spotless before shaving Mr. Dursley's head, using a whole bottle of kid's glue to sculpt Mrs. Dursley's hair, and turn the Dursley son into a sundae. She even went as far as to clean up the glass from the light fixtures and glasses that she trashed as a show of force. I can't decide if we're dealing with a childish juvenile or a criminal mastermind."

"Not a trace of so much as a single hair which, going by witness description, this girl had a lot of," his partner pointed out logically. "Trust me, mate -this bird is more professional than she first appears."

The detective shook his head in amazement. "Talk about Goldilocks going on a rampage."

* * *

_**END CHAPTER FIVE**_

**(1) Floccinaucinihilipilification. Noun. An act or instance of judging something to be worthless or trivial. (Example: Floccinaucinihilipilification is a stupidly difficult word to pronounce, and I can't see why anyone would sit around all day trying to introduce it into the English language. Tadaa -it's difficult to pronounce, therefore, I perceive it as something worthless. Floccinaucinihilipilification.)**

**(2) Not that Wufei has a problem with homosexuals; he's just probably feeling a little stifled by all of the romantic affection between the others. I know _I_ get irritated when my friends and their husbands get all kissy-kissy around me. Watching someone grossly fondle my soul sisters... _:shudders:_ Ew.**

**(3) I spent entirely too much time considering this, so you're just going to have to let me rant about my stupid reasoning. Yes, I know "bright red" blood seems to be a bit cliche, since we usually see blood as a dark crimson. However, when blood is _smeared_ (as Vernon had done when he touched his head and his hand came away with blood; something Harry hadn't seen, so I didn't embellish, as the scene was from his point of view), it has a bright red appearance. Tada. Bright red. (... I really DO have entirely too much time on my hands...)**

**END NOTE: The _last_ thing I want to do is go fanon and embellish the abuse Harry had to suffer with the Dursleys. There's no proof in canon that would indicate that the Dursleys are at all physically abusive to Harry, aside from Dudley's childhood bullying nonsense. However, I firmly believe that there have been instances where Petunia has lashed out at Harry before; in the Chamber of Secrets, Petunia took a swing at Harry's head with a frying pan. Harry instinctually dodged to blow, indicating that he was used to moving out of harms way when it came to his relatives. After the first swing, however, Petunia didn't pursue the matter.**

**I'm not trying to imply that Harry is beaten on a regular occasion or anything. It's possible that the Dursleys sometimes lash out at Harry when they're angry, and Vernon striking Harry is just one of the times the Gryffindor forgot to duck.**


	6. Attack of the QuackyQuat!

_Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
Capricious Purple Clarity  
Chapter Six_

"Wow," Harry murmured in awe once the nausea faded away. He was sitting on the soft, dewy patch of grass that had broken his fall, his eyes focused on the magnificent sight that stretched out before him. He had no doubt the scenery would have been even more breathtaking in full daylight; however, even with the meager aid of the large full moon that had already broken the horizon in the distance, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the untouched beauty of nature surrounding him.

They'd appeared in a rather secluded clearing that was densely populated with trees that towered over him. The view before him, however, was unblemished by so much as an errant twig. Harry could tell they were elevated far above sea level; farther than Harry was accustomed to, anyway. The air was thin and crisp with wild plant life and a heavy scent of pine. Several feet in front of him, the land seemed to disappear -swept away by some mighty force of nature long ago. There were small, rolling hills as far as the eye could see. In the distance, Harry could almost make out what appeared to be a large home.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" someone drawled softly, directly into Harry's ear. The Gryffindor succeeded in choking back his cry of surprise, having not been prepared for the silence to be broken. Unfortunately, he failed to recover quickly enough to contain his involuntary start.

Draco Black pulled back a little, a satisfied smirk on his face when Harry shot him a stern glance. "Got you."

"You wish," Harry automatically retorted, a hint of teasing taking away the sting of the comment. It was their thing. Draco attempted to get a rise out of Harry, and Harry would, in turn, reply, "You wish." Harry regarded this practice fondly, like it was a tradition to their complex (but amazingly simplistic) coupling. Of course, 'their' thing was something completely different. Back when there was nothing but harmful intent and wounded pride, Draco was a spiteful little bugger who did everything he could to butt heads with Harry. Harry, in return, was bloody determined to prove himself a worthy wizard; despite whatever sense of doubt in his mind, Harry was going to lift his chin, look his opponent straight in the eye, and utter those two words with confidence resonating from his voice.

Draco was still a spiteful little bugger when he wanted to be. He still openly ridiculed Hermione, and Ron hadn't been spared of the former Malfoy's full scorn. When it came to Harry or any of the Slytherin's friends, though, he was definitely a lot more casual about it. Oh, he probably still meant most of what he said; Harry didn't doubt that. Nevertheless, the lack of real bite in his tone mixed with his quick wit was actually quite endearing. It was almost like a subtle homage to those he formed bonds with, whether the status of the relationship be friendly or romantically.

It took another moment for Harry to fully register the situation. "Draco! When did you-?"

"I apparated," Draco said offhandedly, waving a hand dismissively around his ear. Harry smothered a grin when he noticed that he'd seen Duo Maxwell display the exact same mannerism. Those two really were starting to emulate each other. "Brilliant trick, apparation. You should learn how."

"I haven't exactly had that opportunity yet, but it'll be the first thing I do," Harry replied dryly.

"No, it won't," Draco said, miffed. "The first thing you're going to do is greet your boyfriend properly. No slacking off, Harry; you have a duty to make me happy."

Harry snorted and didn't even dignify that with a response. Everyone knew it was impossible to make Draco happy. He certainly wasn't going to waste the energy.

The blond pouted petulantly. "You could at least try and make me feel somewhat content. Harry, I've been lonely." His words ended on a rather high, reedy note that indicated that, yes, Draco was going to be a whiney, high-maintenance boyfriend. Of course, Harry would have been an idiot to not consider that before pursuing a relationship with the recalcitrant former Malfoy heir in the first place. He could live with whiney. The high-maintenance bit was something he would just have to tolerate.

A quick spark of mischief lit his eyes, and before Draco could interpret Harry's intentions and move out of the way, the Gryffindor Golden Boy besottedly murmured, "Oh, Draco!" before he immediately lunged at the unprepared boy, tackling him firmly to the ground. Despite Draco's struggling (combined with several grunted choice words expressing his frustration), Harry clung to him like an octopus, keeping his boyfriend firmly pinned to the ground.

Harry laid his head on his chest and sighed heavily, mockingly amorous as he wistfully said, "I missed you so." While Harry's mockery was very clear, his words were spoken with a certain amount of conviction. He had really missed Draco; oh, Harry felt that he'd certainly gotten to know his new boyfriend better over their letters. Draco was as expressive in written word as he was in person. Letters, however, didn't quite satisfy Harry's desire for Draco's actual presence.

Unfortunately, Draco was a bit more focused on other matters to play along as he usually would. "The ground! I'm on the ground! Harry, I'm getting all dirty -_Harry_!"

When Duo snickered at the scene they were making, Harry immediately unwound himself from Draco and scrambled away, a light shade of pink staining his cheeks. He was a little ashamed that he'd forgotten that Duo was also with them, but to be fair, the American hadn't said a word since they appeared in the clearing.

"You deserve it," Duo said, wicked amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked over his two friends. He was sitting on the hood of a rather expensive sports car. "'Make me happy, Harry, I've been _looonelyyy_...'"

The blond spared a vicious glare for Duo after Harry helped him to his feet; Draco pointedly refused to acknowledge the amused smile on Harry's face. The American had pitched his voice in a high falsetto as he recounted Draco's earlier words, exaggerating the purposeful whine of discontent that the former Malfoy had adopted for the sheer purpose of prodding a reaction out of Harry.

He certainly hadn't expected to be bloody glomped.

"It's so nice to hear that you've decided to pursue a career as a transvestite," Draco said airily, delicately brushing blades of grass from the back of his expensive attire. "Decided to perfect your woman voice, have you?"

"Your mother," Duo replied with a catty wink. He slid from the hood of the car and walked around the other side, walking a fair distance away before kneeling out of sight.

"I hate it when he says things like that," Draco admitted grudgingly to Harry, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes in exasperation. "It doesn't make any sense to me, and I can't decide if I've won the battle of wits or not. Bloody Americans always have to make things difficult."

"I'll have you know that making things difficult for you is my specialty," Duo boasted. "We'll start the bonfire, drink some of Tipsy's delicious cocoa, and burn rubber all the way back to the mansion when I bury the remains after the fire goes out."

"Tizzy, Duo," Draco said wearily. "Her name is Tizzy."

"Yeah, but she's even more fun when she's Tipsy," Duo said slyly.

"What...?" Harry finally said, obviously confused.

"It's terrible," Draco bemoaned, taking Harry by the hand and literally dragging his boyfriend around to see Duo better. He made sure to give the strange contraption that the American's bum had been resting on just moments before a wide berth. While he was vaguely certain he knew the function of Duo's frivolous purchase, he was still leery about how it worked.

"He keeps randomly giving the house elves butterbeer despite my protests! Just the other day I found Gordy in the closet fondling one of my mother's expensive stilettos in a drunken stupor. It was the most horrifying experience of my life."

Harry blinked, bemused. "You have a house elf named Gordy?"

Draco gave his boyfriend a shrewd look. "You focus on the strangest details."

"Ask him where Babe is(1)," Duo said eagerly, throwing two bags of trash in the large hole he'd been hollowing out. "Draco loves it when you make jokes he won't likely understand," he added, his words weighing heavily with sarcasm that suggested Draco's opinion on the matter was completely opposite.

Harry belatedly noticed that the American had forgone the skirt, stockings, and shoes, having donned a pair of stone-washed jeans and worn sneakers in the place of the offending items. The discarded women's clothing joined the bags of garbage in the hole, along with a pile of wood from the surrounding area. Harry caught a fleeting glimpse of a lacy lavender brazier and matching panties before the wood obstructed his view.

Laughter caught in Harry's throat, and he painfully swallowed the urge to release it. Only Draco would go as far as to force the American to wear lingerie.

In any case, it was no wonder Harry had forgotten Duo's presence. Apparently, the American had been busy with other things.

"Why are we having a bonfire again?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.

"To drink cocoa," Duo replied cheerfully, pointing his wand at the hole and murmuring a spell that drenched the pile with something that smelled vaguely of petrol.

Harry sighed. He knew it. It was just impossible to get a straight answer out of Duo. "Okay. Why?"

"You can't drink cocoa at night in the wilderness without a bonfire, Harry. Jeez," the American said teasingly, "we really need to expose you to the delights of camping."

"Don't do it," Draco whispered urgently. "I've heard about this camping thing -it sounds positively ghastly. It's all about some ancient muggle ritual to prove one's worth by taming nature and taking advantage of the natural resources the wilderness provides. I'm almost certain he made it all up just to see me sleep outdoors."

Harry couldn't stop his laughter this time. "I can't believe you told him about camping and expected him to be all for it."

Duo looked slightly offended. "Harry! Have a little faith in me!" He paused. "I was going to take him camping without telling him what it was all about. Unfortunately, he's wised up to my wicked ways and asked Heero about it instead."

By the time Harry recovered from his fit of uncontrollable laughter, the three of them were sitting in front of the roaring fire, sipping hot cocoa from the magical equivalent of a thermos that Draco had brought with him alongside the new change of clothes that Duo was wearing. It had taken only a minute of relentlessly inquiring as to why the blond had been so generous to bring along a spare set of comfortable clothes for the American Gryffindor, but the former Malfoy finally gave in with a disappointed sigh.

"Heero said hamster boy's debt was paid the second you two left Surrey," Draco admitted, clearly sulking. "He warned me that Duo was going to be driving back to the manor, and he didn't want to hear about any accidents along the way because Duo would be in a rush to get home and tear the clothes off."

"It's nice to know Heero has so much faith in my driving," Duo mentioned nonchalantly, stirring the contents of the fire with a long stick. "Jerk." The insult was said fondly, with no apparent sting meant behind it.

Harry stifled a snicker. "Did you conveniently forget to bring along an extra shirt?"

Duo made a sour face and persistently poked at the fire again.

"That shirt actually looks good on him. Kind of makes him look like a gay gypsy," Draco said smugly. "It's one of my mother's favorites, anyway. I wasn't about to let him burn it."

"I bet gay gypsies are so much cooler than effeminate wizards," Duo murmured cattily, giving Draco a blatantly and specifically slow once over.

"Only in the fantasy world you live in," the Slytherin retorted, equally catty.

If Harry didn't stop them now, the contest of wits would continue until dawn. Quickly, before Duo could get the next parry in, Harry asked, "Why are we burning all of this stuff, anyway?"

"Getting rid of the evidence," Duo replied, temporarily pausing the ongoing battle of wits. "Those two trash bags contained not only the things I used to clean the bathroom, the kitchen, and the den, but also a hairbrush and a wash cloth I used at the Dursleys. I have to dispose of the shoes in case I left any shoe prints behind; burning the rest is sheer vindictiveness on my part, but there's also a chance I left behind clothing fibers."

"That's why you made me clean my room," Harry realized, impressed. "You wanted to get rid of all the forensic evidence as best as you could. That also explains why you asked me to pack my sheets. You were on the bed."  
"Bingo!" Duo said triumphantly. "No doubt there's at least a couple of strands of hair and possibly some epithelials on those sheets. We'll figure out what to do with those later. Personally, I think we can do something along the lines of a toga party. Togas mandatory."

"I'm not even going to pretend I know what epithelials are," Draco muttered cuttingly, immediately sending Duo a warning look when the American opened his mouth. "And don't even bother explaining. It'll probably just irritate me."

Duo closed his mouth with an audible click before a single eyebrow rose. "Probably?"

"I'll rephrase that. Your explanation will definitely just irritate me," the former Malfoy repeated knowingly.

Duo chuckled knowingly, a lazy smile on his lips as he propped the stick on the ground, laying his head against it as he stared at the fire. Finally, after a moment of silent debate, Duo murmured softly, "That's one hell of a shiner you have there, Harry."

The Gryffindor's hand immediately went to the side of his face, wincing in pain when his fingers brushed the sore, swollen skin there. The reminder of what Duo saw earlier in the evening made Harry feel cumbrous and slightly penitent that his friends were forced to witness what they had. His face flushing with embarrassment, he replied hesitantly, "Yeah... They haven't been able to land a blow for so long that I almost forgot how painful this is..."

"Which is probably something you shouldn't bring up right now," Draco said pointedly, reaching out and taking Harry's chin in his hand as he gently tilted Harry's face for a better view of the damage. "Heero made me promise not to let Duo go back and do something he'll probably never regret. Personally, I think I can conveniently forget to watch over Duo for about ten minutes if he's willing."

Duo huffed indignantly. "Hee-chan's such a spoilsport."

Wanting to divert his friends' focus on the Dursleys (mostly out of embarrassment, but partly out of honest concern for the Dursleys if Duo stewed over it long enough), Harry asked, "How in the world did you come up with a moniker like Hee-chan for someone like... Well, like Heero." 'Hee-chan' was cute and affectionate; the one with the nickname was most certainly neither cute nor affectionate unless the person he was talking to was named Duo Maxwell. Well... excluding the cute part. The word didn't fit Heero's looks by anyone's standards. The Japanese Slytherin could only be described by more masculine adjectives.

"It's kind of hard to explain, since it's a cultural thing for Heero," Duo hedged, absently stirring the content of the fire once again. "The Japanese use a slightly different form of address than Westerners do. If Lucius Malfoy had any dealings with wizards in the East, Draco might understand what I'm talking about. Lucius has a high social status, so a Japanese wizard might address him as Malfoy-dono, or even Malfoy-sama. Any Japanese wizard with an equal or higher status would call him Malfoy-san."

"I've heard the first one a lot, but I vaguely recognize the last," Draco murmured thoughtfully, staring at the fire with an unfocused gaze. He was probably thinking about Lucius and the major upheaval between them. Harry reached out hesitantly and slipped his hand into the blond's warm palm. The Gryffindor was rewarded with a small squeeze of acknowledgment in response.

"Malfoy-sama is reserved for high nobility and the CEOs of major corporations," Duo explained. "Malfoy-dono would be for the wealthy, I think. Subordinates of either sex or younger men would be referred to as something like Duo-kun, or Maxwell-kun. That one's also used between friends, particularly with boys and men. The suffix I use with Hee-chan is typically used... Er..." The braided boy twitched, suddenly realizing the implications of explaining the Japanese form of address.

Draco grinned knowingly. "Let me guess. If -kun is for boys, then -chan would be...?"

Harry's jaw dropped open when he realized what Draco's sly inquiry was leading to. "Duo! For Heero?"

"Hey, a guy can handle that particular suffix if his flipping boyfriend is using it," Duo replied defensively. "I'm allowed!"

"You did it before you got together," Harry cried.

"Yeah, and he used to punch my arm hard enough to leave bruises when I first started doing it," Duo retorted, crossing his arms huffily. "Heero always got under my skin. I helped the guy break out of a Federation hospital, and he returned the favor by stealing parts from my aibou to repair his own before taking off! He didn't even apologize when we met each other again! He pissed me off, and I was just returning the favor. Besides, he was ridiculously serious and antisocial, enough so that he actually drew a lot more suspicion to us than he accused me of with my 'outlandish flamboyance.' Those are his words, mind you! I had to do something to loosen him up, or at least make him appear less hostile."

"By using a suffix meant for girls and lovers?" Draco snickered. "You deserved to be punched. He would have shot anyone else that dared to pull that stunt. I bet your motivation was more a revenge tactic than making him appear a little more harmless to the public."

"I admit nothing," Duo said haughtily, which was a blatant admittance in and of itself.

Soon the fire began to fade, having already engulfed all that fueled it until there was nothing left but smoking, fiery embers and withered, charred items that were beyond recognition. Satisfied with how little was left, Duo easily filled the whole with the excess soil until the only sign there was once a hole there in the first place was a slight, suspicious lump of bare dirt.

"That should about do it," Duo crowed triumphantly, jumping to his feet and brushing the clinging dirt from his hands. "Burned and buried in the middle of nowhere. The chances of the cops ever finding this junk way out here are slim to none, but if they do and they also happen to find anything incriminating on me, I freaking deserve to be caught."

"Would they honestly try that hard? You didn't really hurt anyone," Harry pointed out logically as he, along with Draco, followed the American to the expensive sports car. Draco was giving the muggle form of transportation an uneasy once-over, as if the former Malfoy heir hadn't quite figured out what they were supposed to do with such a contraption. Harry wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly the case.

"I still technically kidnaped them by holding them against their wills," Duo explained knowingly. "It's certainly not my worst offense, but the government kind of frowns on things like that."

"What is this thing supposed to do?" Draco asked irritably, his arms stubbornly crossed as he watched Duo pull the handle of the door on one side as Harry made his way to the other.  
"It's a car, Draco," Harry explained patiently, opening the passenger's side door and lifting the seat forward. "You've had to have seen one before. I know for a fact the Ministry of Magic has several magically enhanced vehicles, and the Knight Bus..."

"The Knight Bus is a tool for commoners to travel," Draco said haughtily, lifting his chin, "and the Malfoys have always utilized carriages for long-distance traveling. Then again, I don't understand why we couldn't use our broomsticks. Black Manor is just down there." He pointed toward the side of the cliff, and Harry realized the large residence in the distance he saw before must have been their destination.

"Because driving is so much fun," Duo replied gleefully. "Just as fun as flying a broomstick! So stop complaining and hop in, dragon boy, we're ready to roll!"

Harry thought it would have been prudent to forgo mentioning how these words, said with such wicked glee and combined with the manic gleam in his vibrant eyes, inspired a certain amount of terror within the very depths of his soul. Indicating that anything could possible go awry in front of Draco wouldn't inspire the Slytherin to feel any better about actually sealing his fate and crawling into the car with Duo behind the wheel... Then again, Harry reconsidered the importance of his gut instinct as Draco quickly bypassed the empty front seat and chose to sit in the back with Harry instead. The Gryffindor wasn't sure if keeping silent about his unease was a good thing for either of them, as he was almost positive there would be at least one or two occasions where he would feel his life was in danger.

He was proven right when Duo floored the gas petal, the car fish-tailing wildly in the clearing before the braided maniac righted the car and peeled onto the minute road that encircled the steep cliff. In less than five seconds, Duo was roaring down the narrow road at a steadily climbing 135 km/h, whipping around dangerous curves with the windows rolled down, the wind whipping around the inside of the car wildly as the pounding music attempted to unsettle the quiet countryside that lay between them and their destination.

Duo's thick, heavy braid was even stirring at the phenomenal wind that tore at the occupants of the car, his head thrown back as loud, barking cackles overpowered the music.

"Seatbelt," Harry screamed at Draco, desperately scrambling to attach the only safety feature that would prevent him from being thrown through the windshield, or worse; rolling unrestrained in the interior of the car and breaking every bone in his body, possibly killing him. Judging by the frightened expression on Draco's face, Harry voicing his fears at this point would probably have a negatively adverse effect on the poor muggle-ignorant boy's mental state.

"What?" Draco yelled back, a shrill note of terror in his voice and, for once, showing plainly on his face. Fear was an emotion Harry didn't often get to witness, especially since third year, when Harry scared the obnoxious Slytherin at the Shrieking Shack under the protection of his invisibility cloak. In any case, Harry didn't waste time answering, instead reaching over his boyfriend and snapping the seatbelt into place himself.

"Spoilsports!" Duo called back to them, laughing insanely as he whipped around another dangerous curve with a drop off that was only meagerly protected by a rather shoddy metal guard that, at the speed Duo was going, would have fallen easily to the power of the American's car. Harry closed his eyes tightly, unbidden images of the car sailing over the side of the cliff at 150 km/h coming to the front of his mind, forcing him to whimper. Should it have even be physically possible for the American to keep something going that fast at a downward incline around dangerous, almost catty-corner like turns on the road?

Harry breathed easier when the finally reached the bottom, the road doubling in width as the sharp curves straightened out over rolling green hills. Even if Duo was still going at death-defying speeds every time he crested a hill (Harry could feel his stomach jump all the way up to the back of his throat as he literally felt the very car drop out from under him as Duo flew over the top of another hill), after surviving that terror-filled beginning, the Gryffindor Golden Boy had much more confidence in Duo's ability to manipulate the car to its full potential.

Draco wasn't so inspired. "You mad, evil little cockroach," the Slytherin roared over the music, uncharacteristically infuriated enough to lose almost all of his carefully cultivated icy exterior. "You spirit cursed, dastardly madman. _People like you deserve to drool in their cereal in St. Mungo's for all of eternity_!"  
"He says the sweetest things to me," Duo yelled, sounding oddly pleased by Draco's venomous words.

"Take me seriously when I'm angry with you!" Draco bellowed.

To which Duo responded with a glibly delivered, "Nope!"

"I'm telling Quatre you scared Harry!"

Oddly enough, that forced Duo to pause before he lowered the volume of the music pumping through the speakers, a pout just on the verge of making his lower lip tremble. "That's a low blow, dragon boy." Still, Duo slowed down to a much safer speed of 90 km/h, so Harry couldn't complain about Draco's method... even if he did think it was kind of childish.

"If it makes you feel any better," Harry mentioned casually, "I think you scarred Draco for life."

Duo preened as Draco glowered petulantly at Harry, his crossed harms stubbornly held close to his lower chest. Harry thought it was probably more of an effort to keep whatever was left in his stomach where it belonged and not all over the nice leather interior of Duo's vehicle instead of any resentment over Harry taking Duo's side, if only to mediate between them.

God. They were exactly like _kids_. Kids of the annoying sibling variety.

Luckily, it didn't take much longer for Duo to roar passed the elaborate private gates that still displayed the Malfoy insignia, though the property was clearly listed as the Black family's asset as far as the Ministry was concerned. Harry wasn't completely surprised to find that Trowa and Quatre were waiting for them on the front porch of the expansive mansion.

"Duo," Quatre said chidingly, his hand hovering over the vicinity of his heart.

Duo held up a finger in the air after kicking the door shut with his foot, a mockingly solemn expression on his face as he said, "In my defense... it could have been a lot worse."

"Yes," Draco said testily, trying to recover at least some semblance of his old scathing sarcasm. "Yes, we could all very well be dead now."  
"See, Draco? I told you fields are always greener if you look at them from the right perspective," Duo claimed brightly, casually clapping the disgruntled former Malfoy heir on the back as he breezed his way towards Quatre and Trowa. Quatre still looked reproachful, but Trowa was definitely amused.

As the two recovering passengers followed the exuberant American, Harry laughed quietly and murmured, "This is like an everyday thing for you? Suddenly I'm realizing just how lucky I was being ignored every day."

"Speak up, Harry," Duo called over his shoulder, his braid trailing behind him as if it had a mind of it's own, much like a cat's tail. He'd just reached the threshold of the doorway when he'd heard the green-eyed Gryffindor's nearly incoherent murmur. "I can't think of dazzlingly witty comebacks if you mumble."

"It's safe to say you won't be ignored around here," Draco said dryly in return. "Frankly, I'm still boggling over the fact I've made it this far with my sanity relatively intact."

"Relatively," Trowa amended, his one visible green eye shining with humor that didn't quite reach the rest of his face.

Quatre, of course, was all smile when he said, "It's nice you'll be spending the rest of the holidays with us, Harry. I'm sure Draco especially appreciates your presence; he still has some lingering hope that Duo's rather mischievous behavior will lessen if there's more to spread around." Judging by the wry twist to Quatre's smile, Draco's hope was one destined for disaster.

"Of course, that will be Draco's primary excuse to be grateful that you're here," Trowa added with a sly smirk. "Then again, we all know the real reason."

"You people are just as bad as he is when it comes to teaming up on me," Draco said haughtily, his nose lifting snobbishly in the air. There was no denying the faint tinge of pink in his cheeks, inspiring Harry to grin wildly at the other boy's back.

They finally found the rest of the gang sequestered in the elegantly furnished living room. Chang Wufei sat languidly in the window sill, his face upturned to the moon in solemn contemplation, his long fingers almost absently playing along the hilt of his sword. The studious Ravenclaw turned slightly to them as they entered, his ebony eyes focusing immediately on Harry before Wufei bowed his head in a silent greeting. The Gryffindor returned the favor, aware that the Chinese youth tended to be a lot more reserved than his friends.

Heero was likewise seated at a writing desk, his back to the rest of the room as he penned out a letter. Duo was leaning against the back of the Japanese Slytherin's chair, nosily reading over his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Who are you writing?" Duo asked curiously, his interest clearly piqued.

"Dumbledore."

"Oh, that's nice. Tell him I hope he fatally contracts syphilis from a used tampon," Duo said sweetly. Harry shuddered in revulsion at such vivid imagery before he boggled over this newfound resentment Duo had for Dumbledore. What had the Headmaster done to deserve the full brunt of the American's ire?

"That's disgusting, Duo," Heero said flatly. Nevertheless, Heero picked up the quill and easily scrawled a post script.

"That's pretty much the point, Hee-chan," the American replied flippantly as he read the letter from over the Japanese Slytherin's shoulder. When Heero began folding the letter, the braided boy pouted. "It just doesn't have the same effect without that last part."

"That's pretty much the point, Duo," Heero parried with a surprisingly soft look. "Calm down. You shouldn't let your anger cloud your judgement."

"My judgement is fine," Duo protested. "It's my temper that's the problem. Shinigami hasn't been out to play in ages."

"That's a good thing, Duo," Trowa pointed out logically. "Shinigami tends to traumatize people, if they're unfortunate enough to survive the encounter."

Well. That sounded rather... ominous.

"What did Dumbledore do?" Harry asked, insanely curious. He didn't understand why everyone suddenly quieted down and just looked at him like a peculiar bug trapped under a microscope, but all of the attention made him feel a bit nervous. "What?"  
"God, I hope you're not serious," Duo murmured faintly.

"I'm afraid that's the case," Draco responded with a shake of his head. "The expression currently on Harry's face is like a milder, nonthreatening version of a Heero Death Glare. I've come to call it a Harry Oblivious Stare. This one says something like, 'Not only do I not know what is going on, but I would not know what to do about it if I did.'"

Harry was tempted to tell Draco to shut up, boyfriend or not. Unfortunately, he knew such a command had the exact opposite effect when applied to Draco and gave it up as a lost cause. He was in too good of a mood from leaving the Dursleys forever behind him to throw it all out of the window by taunting his boyfriend into an angry tirade about being told what to do so rudely. Especially since he hadn't even been in the manor for half an hour yet. "It would help if you explained."

"We're flipping pissed at Dumbledore because he stuck you with those intolerant fu-"

"What Duo means to say is," Quatre interrupted the American quickly, no doubt sparing them all from a long rant that included many words most would consider too impolite for public consumption, "we're upset that the Headmaster left you in such a negative atmosphere. Harry, we're your friends; seeing you being treated like you are less than a human being is intolerable."

Oh. "Would you feel less hostile towards Dumbledore if I told you there's a very specific reason for that?" Harry inquired weakly, suddenly apprehensive about the Headmaster's health if the wizen man were ever faced with five terrorists and a pureblood who was most likely taught straight out of the womb that it was completely within reason to punish the people who irritated him.

"Oh, do tell," Duo drawled wryly, flopping lazily on the couch.

"I had to stay with the Dursleys because of the blood protection," Harry explained earnestly. "My mum sacrificed her life for me, which invoked some ancient magic that protects me from Voldemort. Dumbledore said that, as long as I was with Aunt Petunia, the blood protection could keep me safe during the summer."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "That doesn't make sense. You told me that scar on your inner arm was from when Wormtail used your blood in the ritual that brought the Dark Lord back. I remember because you were nattering about Voldemort actually being able to touch you without being hurt."

"So?"

"So wouldn't it stand to reason that since your mother's blood doesn't protect you from Voldemort's touch anymore, any blood protection that hag of an aunt of yours had to offer would be rendered completely useless?"

Harry automatically opened his mouth to rebuke Draco's conclusion, only to find that no words would come to him. That... made sense. Whenever Voldemort tried to physically impair Harry before the ritual, the Dark Lord was severely burned for his efforts. Whatever meager indemnity his mother's blood offered him was quickly nullified when Voldemort used Harry's blood to give himself a new, stronger form.

It was very possible that the blood protection was utterly _useless_.(2)

"Bugger."

"See, now that just makes me even crankier," Duo said with forced nonchalance, his well-crafted mask almost slipping to reveal the American's inner rage. "Remind me why I can't go with you guys tomorrow morning?"

"Despite the blatant injustice, the rest of us aren't quite so eager to see the Headmaster die in a vicious manner only befitting Shinigami," Wufei said solemnly. There wasn't even a subtle trace of anything remotely resembling a punch line in the Chinese Ravenclaw's voice.

Duo smirked nastily. "Oh, but you're all angry enough to inflict Quatre's tender mercies on the old bastard? Man, if I really didn't hate him right now, I'd feel sorry for the old man. I wouldn't wish Quat's righteous fury on just anyone, you know."

Draco and Harry exchanged incredulous glances before both turned their attention explicitly on the genteel Hufflepuff that was peacefully sipping at his tea, his countenance one of serene royalty as he sat primly in the high-backed chair aside the couch Duo was lounging on. Harry honestly thought that, if he were to compare Duo's hot temper with Quatre's so-called "righteous fury", Quatre's scolding would be like a pleasure cruise of mildly chastised guilt. He suspected that Draco thought much of the same thing.

Boy, were _they_ wrong.

----------

_Headmaster: _

I am sure you are aware of the recent development concerning  
Potter's relocation; as such, I see no reason to go into detail  
in a letter that can be intercepted.

I still intend to meet with you tomorrow about the project I have  
been working on. We will meet at the designated time at your  
preferred location. Be aware that Potter will be attending our  
meeting. His attendance will be explained at that time.

Quatre Winner and Draco Malfoy will also be joining us to discuss  
an entirely different matter that is separate from the project.

If you seek to contact Potter before our meeting, we will sternly  
consider taking affirmative action to derail any persisting  
attempts. If you send anyone to the manor in hopes of collecting  
Potter, we will perceive you as a threat.

Do not force us to perceive you as an enemy, Headmaster. I am  
positive you know more about our past then you would lead us to  
believe. We both know who will come out of this victorious.

**Yuy**

P.S.  
Duo wishes you a warm salutation. He would like me to further  
indicate that he hopes you contract a fatal strain of syphilis.  
----------

Apparently, the designated time at the Headmaster's preferred location translated into 9:00 AM at Number 12 Grimmauld's Place. Harry still didn't know what sort of project Heero had been working that required Dumbledore's attention. He would have been a little more irritated about it if his attention wasn't so focused on preventing Draco from burning all of the clothes he deemed unacceptable.

"Oh merciful spirits... Harry! _Harry_. Please tell me you have a better fashion sense than this!" The blond Slytherin waved a handful of clothes in front of him emphatically. For the occasion, Draco had barged into Harry's guestroom before dawn, dressed to the nines in durable clothing that covered almost ever inch of his skin, thick rubber gloves that coned around his elbows, a white cotton mask tied around the lower part of his face, and... a hairnet.

"Welcome to the Twilight Zone," Harry had mumbled dazedly, rubbing his eyes sleepily as Draco marched over to his wardrobe, his big, heavy boots audibly thumping against the carpet.

Duo Maxwell was leaning against the doorframe, smiling wickedly at Harry. "Draco's afraid of muggle germs," the braided boy had said gleefully, his amethyst eyes dancing with laughter.

"Oh, for pity's sake, that is the ugliest eyesore I've ever seen," Draco said faintly, dropping his handful of clothing. He lifted the tongs that had been hanging from the belt around his hip and used it to carefully pry a ratty orange and green jumper from its coat hanger. Harry could just imagine the sneer of revulsion under his boyfriend's concealing mask.

"Oh," the Slytherin whimpered, dropping the jumper on the floor as his attention found something even worse. "Are those... Are those pinstriped parachute pants?"

Harry winced. "Um. One of Dudley's least desirable castoffs."

Draco stiffened. Duo, having welcomed himself to a comfortable reading chair close to the French balcony door, managed to conceal his frustration with a tiny flinch. The two of them were oddly silent and unmoving for a moment; so much so that Harry became just a little more concerned about the Dursleys' well-being.  
Finally, Draco inquired calmly, "So none of these clothes are actually yours? They're just..." The former Malfoy made a face, choking out, "just... hand-me-downs?" The last part sounded like it had been torn from him, as if it actually caused him physical pain to speak the words. Harry couldn't decide if the reason for this was because Draco was trying to choke down his anger at the Dursleys, or the indignity of speaking of something he considered plebeian.

"Yes," Harry sighed, finally reaching over and donning his glasses.

"So... you think wearing things like... like this..." Insert melodramatic wave of his arm that encompassed what consisted of Harry's wardrobe here. "You think wearing things like this is _acceptable_?"

Harry snorted. "Of course not. I just had very little choice in the matter."

"Praise the spirits," Draco said in relief, tossing the tongs to the ground as he bowed his head. "My boyfriend doesn't have a tragic taste in fashion. First thing we do when we go to Diagon Alley is buy you an entirely new wardrobe. This atrocious pile of rags is going to be sealed in a biohazard bag and sent to toxin disposal after that."

"Why not burn them in the backyard? We can have a party and everything," Duo said cheerfully, adding a glib, "with s'mores!"

"Don't be disgusting," Draco said haughtily. "I'll not pollute this semi-muggle atmosphere with your muggle diseases. There's no telling what kind of deadly germs might be roaming on this sorry excuse for clothing; burning them will just make them airborne." With that, he turned on his heels and left, presumably to carefully strip himself naked and take a very thorough shower that included a lot of anti-bacterial soap.

"I think I've been subjecting him to too many B-rated movies about deadly disease epidemics caused by monkeys," Duo mused absently, staring out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes.

Harry smiled reluctantly. It figured.

Deciding the chances of him getting anymore sleep would be a pointless endeavor, Harry shooed Duo from his room and put together a respectable outfit that wouldn't force Draco to officially announce that the Gryffindor was a fashion disaster. It was six o'clock in the morning on a holiday. What did people do at this ungodly hour?

More than Harry realized, apparently. Heero was busy in the living room paying more attention to his laptop than the news on the telly, while Duo was idly sweeping the tail of his braid along Heero's bare collar bone as some form of entertainment. Harry could see Trowa lounging on the patio, painstakingly sharpening his wide array of knives with a whetstone.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Wufei's out playing Mr. Miyagi to Draco's Karate Kid," Duo said with a hint of amusement. "Quatre's trying to convince the house-elves to make a meal fit for seven, and not an entire army like they'd originally intended. Turns out, you're hot stuff around these parts."

Harry faintly hoped that all Malfoy house-elves (former or not) were nothing like Dobby. He honestly didn't think he'd survive if that was the case.

Luckily, breakfast was ready before Harry had enough time to work himself up over the possibility. It was almost unanimously decided to take advantage of the nice morning to take their breakfast on the patio, and Harry was just getting settled when Wufei and Draco walked around a corner of the manor, both appearing a little winded and sweaty from exertion. Instead of bemoaning his unclean status, Draco seemed oddly pleased with himself.

"Fun work out?" Duo asked nonchalantly, eagerly serving himself a generous helping of scrambled eggs and plump sausages. He topped off his eggs with ketchup, humming jauntily as he stirred the stark red condiment with his fluffy yellow eggs.

"Black finally nailed the third kata," Wufei replied, grudgingly impressed. "I'm teaching him the fourth kata tomorrow."

"Oooh, good job, dragon boy," Duo cheered, saluting the preening blond smartly. "Bet your ego feels ten times heavier."

"Draco deserves to feel proud of himself," Quatre said kindly. "At the rate he's going, he might learn the sixth kata before we go back to school."  
"There, see? I deserve to bask in my own glory," Draco said smugly, smirking at Duo. "Leave me to my innocent ego stroking, hamster boy -with you around, I don't get to do it as much as I'd like."

"Aha!" Duo cried triumphantly. "So you're finally admitting I'm better than you. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that."

"I said no such thing!" Draco snapped sharply.

"If Duo's eggs end up in my hair again," Heero broke in, his tone vaguely threatening, "I'm going to be in a foul mood."

"The same goes for me and the pancake syrup," Trowa added casually, gracefully moving the container of syrup out of reach.

"Harry, why don't you join Draco and Wufei?" Quatre suggested serenely, spreading jam along the surface of his toast absently. "It's very good exercise, and you could find a muggle approach to defense useful if you ever lose your wand. I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"It would be a wise decision," Wufei said solemnly, his head tilted thoughtfully. "The first step to protecting others is to learn how to protect oneself. We might as well take him down to the basement and cover all the bases."

Even though Harry was excited about the possibility of doing something new, he couldn't help but lodge a small complaint. "You mean I have to _learn_ something over the summer?"

Draco laughed wryly. "Welcome to my life."

Nevertheless, Harry accepted Quatre's proposal. Breakfast was hurried along after that, Heero having announced that Draco only had an hour to wash away the grime of the morning and put on clothes a little more acceptable for a meeting with Dumbledore as the head of the Order of the Phoenix instead of as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. No one was overly surprised that Draco took advantage of every second allotted to him, which gave Harry plenty of opportunity to drill Heero for answers.

"What kind of project are you working on that would involved Dumbledore?" Harry asked, watching Heero scan the Daily Prophet for anything newsworthy to kill time.  
"You'll hear about it in the meeting," Heero pointed out rationally, casually pressing a few keys on the laptop that was sitting on the breakfast table.

"Dumbledore and the others usually don't allow me to sit in on meetings," Harry replied stonily, resentment stirring in his stomach. He always hated it when Dumbledore left him out.

"Dumbledore doesn't have any say in the matter," Heero said monotonously, finally closing his laptop and storing the muggle device in its bag. "Besides, you're somewhat involved. There's no logic in leaving you out of any discussion that involves you."

Talk about _novelty_.

----------

Having dealt with such wizarding conveniences as the Floo Network since he could reach the powder, Draco didn't even stumble when he came flying out of the grate and into the darkened living room. He remained firmly on his feet, his clothes barely stained with a hint of ash that he dusted away with a slightly discontented scowl. Heero, having gone through the Floo before him, had already approached the only man in the room.

Apparently, Sirius Black had been waiting for them.

Draco was a little more hesitant about approaching someone who's name had only been whispered in his father's circles; though his mother spoke of her favorite cousin with a fond, almost wistful regard. "A diehard Gryffindor to the core," she would say with a minor note of disdain mixed with a certain amount of affection, "but my favorite cousin, if only because no one could claim he was _boring_."

_I wonder how he will react when Harry breaks the news that his godson is going out with Narcissa Black's son?_ Draco wondered absently, turning back to the grate just in time to catch Harry before he stumbled and fell on his face. Unfortunately, the Gryffindor, not quite as accustomed to the Floo as Draco, managed to tackle the former Malfoy heir to the ground.

Harry blinked and fixed his glasses while Draco surveyed his soot stain a la Harry with a disposition of a defeated man. "Huh. Why am I not shocked that Duo wasn't joking when he said you'd break my fall?"

"That braided idiot would be the one indirectly responsible for the Harry-shaped soot stain on my favorite red shirt," Draco said haughtily, inspecting his clothes derisively.

Harry snorted. "Somehow I knew the first thing that would draw your concern was your clothes," he said cattily before scrambling to his feet, helping Draco up in the process with a critical once-over. "Red suits you."

"Start fantasizing about me wrapped in a red and gold ribbon and nothing more and you'll know the true meaning of torment," Draco retorted with a smirk, obviously pleased with Harry's observation. "Gold is an atrocious color on me."

Black's bark of laughter was almost as loud as a gun shot. Heero and Quatre, who apparently Flooed in several seconds after Harry, flinched visibly, their hands hovering over where their own firearms would be. "Now, would Harry be tormented by the image itself," the man said jokingly, sidling up to his godson with a quirky grin, "or by the atrocity that is Draco Black wearing gold?"

Cheeky bastard. "Both," Draco responded airily, "if only because the fantasy version of me would have to beat the fantasy version of Harry senseless for forcing him in anything related to yellow. Even the fantasy Draco has to have some sense of reality."

Black smirked, glancing at Harry. "He's Narcissa's brat, all right," the man said wryly. "She always was a cheeky bint."

Draco would have protested Black's description of his mother if his observation hadn't been so bloody accurate. Instead, he sighed in defeat and shook his head, pondering aloud, "Hm, I wonder if it's because I've been exposed to the full brunt of Mother's sarcastic, manipulative tongue straight out of the womb? Lucius has told me such fascinating stories about my mother's charming remarks about how I looked so much like a runty prune that she found it hard to believe I gave her ten and a half hours of labor no medicine could help. These kind of things tend to leave an impression."

"Yeah," Black said with a rueful grin. "Cissy hasn't changed a bit."  
Draco smirked. "And she still hates it when people call her Cissy."

"Who do you think circulated that nickname? Ah, to be young again," Black mused, his eyes dimming somewhat. Draco saw Harry nibble his bottom lip as he looked to his godfather with concern; apparently, Black had been taking the loss of twelve years of his life harder than he let on.

"We're late for our meeting," Heero said quietly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Black reacted almost instantly, throwing his arm around his godson's shoulders and rubbing the Gryffindor's messy black hair affectionately. Draco noticed that his boyfriend flinched, for a moment visibly uncomfortable with the fatherly gesture. As soon as he recognized it for what it was, the green-eyed boy seemed to slowly calm down until he was left with content confusion.

Why was affection such a foreign concept for Harry? The answer, immediate and undeniable, had Draco clenching his teeth in restraint. Those bloody Dursleys...

Luckily for Dumbledore (and Draco's climbing blood pressure), Black broke through the former Malfoy's almost animalistic desire for vengeance with his lazy drawl of, "Can't keep such a chatty guy like Yuy waiting, can we?" With that, arm still securely wrapped around his godson's shoulders, Black nearly swept the boy out of the living room, followed closely by Heero and Quatre. Draco hurried to walk closer to Heero's side, mostly in hopes that anything that attacked them from the shadows would swiftly be dealt with while Draco's dignity was still intact.

Ew... Were those house-elf heads mounted on the bloody staircase? Draco shuddered in revulsion and forced himself to look at Harry's back. Narcissa Black, while being frightfully honest about how insane her family was, still managed to hold a tone of respect to her bloodline for hiding their eccentricities for so long. Personally, Draco thought any family who made it a tradition to proudly display the heads of decapitated house-elves deserved to be put away in a mental institution forever. If only because of sheer tackiness.

The heir to the Black Legacy didn't seem affected by the gloomy atmosphere of his ancestral home too much. (Draco later found out that it used to be much, much worse, thus Black's apparent comfort with some of the creepier aspects of his home; if what he'd seen was considered "progress," he really didn't want to see what "worse" would entail.) In fact, Black's spirit seemed to have been renewed, almost so much so that his sudden enthusiasm couldn't have been a front. Draco was slightly puzzled; why in the world would Black be so inspired to smirk so cockily over a meeting Heero had set with the Headmaster? What manner of project was so important that it needed to be discussed within the very headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?

Mercy of the _spirits_, what was Dumbledore _wearing_?

"Aha," Dumbledore cried in delight, his eyes twinkling as he looked to the committee standing in the doorway of the makeshift study. "You see, Severus? It would only be polite to allow Harry and Sirius a little time on their own."

_Yeah_, Draco thought snottily, _since they don't exactly get to see each other very often... Crafty git_.

Severus Snape, schooled early on just how one would go about reading Draco's mind, merely looked at the blond and raised his eyebrow in wry bemusement. The former Malfoy rolled his eyes petulantly, haughtily predicting that Severus was going over every little detail and turning the possible conclusions around in his head carefully. The Potions Master was probably privately stunned that Draco seemed so resentful on Harry Potter's behalf. Of course, the man wasn't aware that Harry was Draco's new beau, and the Slytherin Prince wasn't about to update his Head of House on that matter without several emergency escape routes and surefire certainty that he could easily avoid the man for a week or two. The news would probably be delivered in letter format, and damn whatever the boy's Malfoy instincts screamed about propriety.

Once Quatre closed the door after subtle scanning the hallway for potential eaves' droppers, Heero immediately got down to business. "The case is air-tight. All you have to do is have one of your Auror operatives sign-out and protect the evidence the Ministry cast aside; I need it uncorrupted if we're to have the hearing in two days."

"Hearing?" Harry questioned hesitantly.

Black's grin seemed to be catching, as Quatre couldn't prevent himself from beaming, as well. To affect even Quatre, the man's enthusiasm must have been phenomenal. "Yuy here took it upon himself to orchestrate a plot to have my judgement overturned. If he's as good as Albus says, I might be a free man by next week."

Harry was absolutely ecstatic, which amused Draco more than anything. His boyfriend looked like he'd just been told his puppy sidekick had finally found his way back home, his expression delicately ensnared somewhere between the elation of hearing the announcement and anticipation over finally rejoining with his lost dog. Draco grudgingly admitted that it was kind of... cute.

Judging by the disgusted sneer that twisted his face, Severus didn't think the scene was quite so endearing.

"The evidence does most of the talking for me," Heero said monotonously, barely sparing a glance for the psuedo-family moment between godfather and godson. "Black's wand still remains, and Pettigrew's autopsy report -if one can call it that- and the photos of the severed finger will explain the logical conclusion the evidence points to. Draco has already promised to answered a controlled list of questions under the influence of Veritaserum; all I would need is for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to agree to the same treatment. Their witness testimony is critical because they've actually heard Pettigrew confess to both being the Potters' Secret Keeper and killing twelve muggles in covering up his tracks. Draco has only ever seen someone called Wormtail on one occasion."

"What about Moony?" Black spoke up, looking directly at Heero. "He's an adult; the Wizengamot might find his testimony a lot more reliable than the kids', especially after the Prophet smeared Harry's name a few years ago."

"Lupin is a werewolf," Heero pointed out quietly. "While I find him to be a perfectly competent, reasonable man, Wufei pointed out that the social climate in regards to werewolves in general might hinder our case."

"Which just started Wufei off on this rant about the bigoted hypocrisy of the wizarding world," Draco couldn't help but to add sardonically. "Best let that subject die, I think."

Harry smothered a grin. "You're the one who brought it up."

"Just inflicting them with a smidgeon of the torture I've had to put up with so far this summer," Draco said loftily.

"And who opened up his home to the muggle-touting parade again?"  
"I don't know why you keep pointing out flaws in my passive-aggressive vengeance that I'll simply refuse to acknowledge," the former Malfoy heir said indifferently. "You should know by now that it's a wasted effort."

Of course. Draco would swear to his dying breath that anything wrong that transpired during his life would always be someone else's fault. "Silly me."

"You are sure that the mutt doesn't have to be present for his own hearing?" Severus asked oilily, crossing his arms over his chest as he met Heero's narrowed gaze bravely.

"I went over wizarding law thoroughly with Wufei," Heero said flatly. "Sirius Black doesn't have to be present for a hearing held in his defense. Besides, the Wizengamot can have anyone connected with this case arrested and charged for harboring a criminal if Black is present; even in defending him, it's important that everyone participating in this trial remember that any affiliation with a convict can have dire repercussions. Our case can be thrown out of court."

"As usual, Black would only complicate matters," Severus drawled dully.

"Say that again, Snivel–"

"Sirius," Dumbledore warned sternly, and the irate Black immediately quailed the man's desire to physically and verbally attack the surly Potions Master (but only just). "Severus, I would appreciate it if you would stop baiting Sirius."

"Headmaster," the Potions Master murmured respectfully; however, the sneer that remained on his face spoke of just how little he thought of that particular idea.

"In any case, it will be nice to see Sirius a free man once more, as he rightfully deserves," Dumbledore said whimsically. "I'm sure you are counting down the days when you can legally live with your godfather, though it saddens me that this trial is too little, too late."

"Actually, sir," the Winner heir spoke up, a fond smile on his face as he glanced toward Harry and Draco for a moment. "We'd all prefer that Harry stay with us. I think Duo's become rather protective of Harry, and we're all extremely self-efficient and capable of defending both ourselves and others. The manor is impenetrable as it is, and Heero's already scheming to increase security by muggle means. Harry has also expressed an interest in taking the same self-defense lessons as Draco, and I think the exercise will be good for him."

Black was confused, and possibly slightly hurt by the announcement. He looked to his godson questioningly, but made no accusation of being left at the wayside when they finally had their chance to be something like a family. Draco thought that said a lot about his cousin's disposition, especially considering his Gryffindor nature. "Harry?"

"It is a very good idea, Sirius," Harry said earnestly, trying to appeal to his godfather's better reasoning. "I'm sure Draco can make allowances for you to visit as often as you'd like, but the opportunity to learn something new, something I can use for... well, later... It's really too good to pass up, at this point."

"I guess your right," Sirius said, still sounding slightly disappointed but resigned. As a way to boost his spirits, the man proclaimed, "But I get to drop in on you any time I want. Even if it's just to balance a bucketful of pigment potion above your door, I'm allowed."

"We might want to make sure the others know about that," Harry said with a nervous laugh, awkwardly rubbing the back of his messy hair. "They don't like surprise visits very much."

"Well, then, as long as we're clear on that," Sirius said with a lopsided grin, "I guess I can live with that arrangement."

Not surprisingly, Dumbledore wasn't very keen on the idea. "I don't believe it would be a wise decision for Harry, Duo, and Draco to be together. Voldemort wants all of them for his own nefarious reasons, and the temptation might prove too great for him."

Quatre's eyes hardened, which should have been their first clue that things were really about to turn interesting. Something in the Winner heir's congenial attitude began to slowly fade away, leaving behind a darker, almost more sinister aura. "I don't believe I gave you a choice in the matter." The faint chill of ice in his voice certainly brought anything else Dumbledore had to say to a sputtering stop.

Draco's jaw literally dropped open in shock. What... the... hell? What just happened? What manner of dark creature replaced the sweet, polite blond angel in the span of a second? Why didn't the world make sense anymore? Draco dazedly turned his head slightly to gauge Harry's reaction, and he was relieved to find his boyfriend in a state of similar shock. Snape was a little different; the sallow-skinned man had raised a single inquisitive eyebrow in interest as his attention with the proceedings was renewed. Heero merely looked bored, and Sirius Black appeared oddly pleased with how things were progressing.

Apparently, the felon had a few grudges against Dumbledore, too.

Dumbledore, of course, was a little perturbed by little Quatre Winner's hardened demeanor and faint withering glare. A glare, he noted worriedly, that was becoming more pronounced by the second.

"You have no right to demand where Harry lives," Quatre continued, his voice practically arctic by this point. "As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the only time you have a right to be worried over Harry's whereabouts is during the school year. No matter how highly you consider yourself in his life, you've given Harry no reason to pledge his allegiance to you. You've manipulated him and the people around him from the very beginning, and you've done a substandard job of it. It stops here."

"Mr. Winner," Dumbledore began, a fair amount of uncertainty overshadowing his normally jubilant countenance.

"I'm not finished," Quatre snapped. Whatever Dumbledore could possibly say in his defense was immediately culled, and the room momentarily plunged into silence.

"Oh, spirits, I am so glad I didn't miss this." Draco broke in with his reverent, almost humble words as he stared at Quatre's profile. He honestly felt like crowing in delight and laughing. He wanted to jump up from his chair and yell, "Yes! Yes! He is worthy of his Malfoy blood! Yes!"

Draco didn't particularly care about Quatre's muggle parentage. Okay, so maybe he cared a little. His subtle, deceptively innocent comments about muggles and muggle things had a sting to them, no matter how glibly he expressed his negative thoughts about muggles and mudbloods. It couldn't be helped; an entire life of his parents, his parents' friends, and even Draco's own friends conditioning him to think lowly of muggles and mudbloods wasn't about to be changed, no matter how determined Harry and the others were to prove otherwise. To be fair to Harry, he wasn't particularly enthusiastic about instilling total respect for muggles into someone who'd been predestined at birth to hate them. Still, he certainly wasn't about to get in Duo's way of attempting to achieve an impossible goal.

Even so, Draco was beginning to see mudbloods in a different light. Oh, not all of them -not by a long shot. The only way Draco could fully accept them was if they earned his regard. This was actually a pretty tough goal, by anyone's standards; Draco was very hard to please. He was overly critical, overly opinionated as to what constituted as "worthy of respect," and he found the most insipid reasons to keep people from achieving such an objective. However, it became more and more clear that out of a small number of people that already had Draco's respect, the mudbloods were starting to outweigh the purebloods.

Heero Yuy and Trowa Barton were two of the best examples of what any Slytherin could only ever hope to be. Draco could only assume that, because of Heero and Trowa's mudblood nature (perhaps partly because of introducing the tactics of war out of the womb had a little something to do with it, as well), they were destined to be Slytherin to the core despite their heritage. If he really wanted to be honest, Draco secretly thought most of the pureblood Slytherins were often blinded by hatred of a race of individuals they barely knew anything about was at fault for the lack of real Slytherin instincts. Oh, the prejudices against muggles were understandable enough, but few hated them more passionately than the Malfoys. Malfoys weren't foolish enough to silently wage war on a race of people that never did anything to them.

It was the only muggle history Draco knew by heart. In 1233, a man named Gregory IX -highly revered as a highest representation of that Catholic religion the muggles were raving about at the time- pronounced the official beginning to what he called _The Inquisition_. Dominican monks were sent to Languadoc, their leader's attraction of the town specifically because of its abundant wealth and valuable land. The proceeded to set an ultimatum; everyone had exactly one month to confess every wicked, evil notion that challenged the existence of what _their_ Messiah and _their_ God stood for, and they would allow the people to walk away with minimal punishment.

The Malfoi Family was literally wizarding royalty. Oh, they knew to keep their distance from muggles, but that didn't stop the family from using their keen business sense to their advantage. The Malfoi Family owned much of the land surrounding the outskirts of Languadoc, and they had several dealings in the more successful muggle businesses. To the wizards, however, Malfoi Family was truly addressed with the same titles as royalty.

The last thing a Malfoi would do was to bow down to anyone who dared order it, especially the divine leader of a muggle religion wizards barely acknowledged. Purebloods of the day were heavily steeped in pagan beliefs; the open practices of pagan rituals faded over time, but even Draco showed his reverence to the spirits, nature, and the gods every once in a while. They weren't about to confess to anything they didn't truly believe in, and the mere thought that they would be punished if they did made the family indignant. Many wizarding families followed the example of the people they considered royalty.

Then the month passed by, and the Malfoi Family suffered a massive blow that they had only begun to recover from recently. Almost all of the wizards and witches in Langaudoc suffered tragically during this time, but none as much as the Malfois. Because of their open defiance to the Church, they were forcibly ordered to turn over all land deeds and the wealth they'd accumulated because of muggles. The fact that they had been wizards never actually came out; it was their assets in the wizarding world that saved them from complete destitution. Many members of Draco's extended family were lost to hedonistic torture and eventual death.

Whatever was left of the Malfoi Clan quickly pulled up roots and fled to Britain, along with anyone who could afford to do so. However, the Malfois felt a profound sense of duty to their people, and many of the less fortunate were able to leave the country as an expense to the newly dubbed "Malfoys." It was probably one of the only completely selfless stunts the family ever pulled.

Draco, as a former Malfoy, wasn't about to forget exactly why he hated muggles in the first place. However, many of his peers were ignorant of exactly why they hated muggles; they were simply aware that they _did_. This example of such blind hatred could be why the amount of Slytherin prowess was... lacking.

Heero and Trowa had It. A Slytherin's instinct as it should be, and not as it had become to purebloods. In that, they had Draco's respect.

Harry had earned his respect, if only because his boyfriend had sheer dumb luck coming out of the arse. Draco had been raised to criticize everything ideally Gryffindor since he'd been in the nursery; surprisingly, this was mostly his mother's influence. Lucius couldn't care enough about silly Gryffindor ideals to ridicule them much. Narcissa wasn't quite so discreet about her derision.

However, time and time again, Harry proved that the Gryffindor thing actually worked for him. There he was, boldly facing the Dark Lord down since diapers, and he'd yet to show that he'd cracked under the pressure of over thousands of hopes and expectations of those in wizarding society to defeat Voldemort for good this time around. Harry had the best damn luck out of anybody that Draco knew, and if that wasn't worth respect by itself, Draco didn't know what else would be.

Quatre had his respect before this new side of him made its appearance. Oh, the blond took an entirely different approach to using his charisma to his advantage; Quatre was more about what was good for the people instead of what would be good for his bank account. He especially excelled at explaining his point of view so thoroughly that anyone listening wouldn't be able to believe they'd ever thought any differently. To coin of phrase he'd adopted because of Duo's obsession with something called _Star Wars_, Quatre used his powers for the Light Side of the Force.(3)

However, Malfoys in general thrived on the Dark Side of the Force. While Quatre was worthy of Draco's respect despite his halfblood status, Quatre's easy manners and polite posturing often culled Draco's urge to think of him as a descendant of the Malfoys. Now there was proof, right in front of his eyes, that Quatre was capable of being just as spiteful and vindictive as a true Malfoy. What was better was that he had the talent to turn the situation to his advantage while still portraying his utter disdain with the Headmaster. Brilliant. Draco couldn't wait to tell Blaise, Pansy, and the others of the most Slytherin-worthy battle against Dumbledore.

"You were aware that Harry wasn't happy living with the Dursleys, were you not?"

"I knew that Harry was a little discontent, but–"

Quatre swiftly cut him off, the same impersonal, emotionless quality in his voice as the first question. "Yes or no, Headmaster."  
Dumbledore shrewdly considered the blond Hufflepuff before heavily replying, "Yes."

"You were aware that Petunia Dursley often called him horrible names and insulted both him and his deceased parents for their magic on several occasions, were you not?"

"Of course I am regretful that Lily's sister would harbor such bitter resentment for both her sister and her nephew, however-"

"Yes. Or no," Quatre almost purred malevolently, his teal eyes barely visible through the heavy lids over his eyes.

The wizen man sighed. "Yes."

"You were aware that Dudley Dursley continuously hounded his cousin, going as far as to threaten physical violence while the Dursley parents turned a blind eye, were you not?"

"Sometimes boys that age vent teenage frustration through physical altercations-"

"I won't warn you again."

The Headmaster tensed, his eyes flickering toward Snape for only a second before he responded in the affirmative. Draco, too, managed to tear himself from the scene before him long enough to spare the others a look. Snape, in particular, looked intrigued not only by Quatre's new "face", but his posture as well. The Hufflepuff had one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting on the arm of his seat as he supported his tilted head on the back of his hand. Quatre spoke slowly and attentively, his face carefully devoid of emotion as he stared cooly at the Headmaster with a heavy-lidded gaze. Every time Dumbledore went farther than a single word answer and Winner had to remind the man that he didn't want to hear any excuses, his tone became a lot more... predatory.

That was it. Quatre Winner was a dangerous predator in his current state of mind. He was far from mindless anger; every word that came out of his soft, thin lips were coldly calculating, his questions seemingly devised in advance.

Quatre was _playing_ with Dumbledore.

"Were you aware that Vernon Dursley would become so furious over Harry that he would go as far as to strike him?"  
"What?" Sirius bellowed, shooting to his feet immediately and crossing the room to kneel at Harry's side, his hand almost immediately reaching out to hover tentatively over the green and yellow bruise that almost engulfed one whole side of the boy's face. "Harry, did that fat muggle do this to you?"

This time, Dumbledore looked completely unruffled. "Of course not! I wouldn't have allowed Harry to stay with the Dursleys if I had any suspicions that Mr. Dursley was physically abusive toward Harry!"

"Please," Harry broke in nervously, glancing between the two wearily as he hurriedly said, "Most of the time Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were satisfied with screaming at me and adding on more chores or sending me to my room." Mostly because they couldn't stand to touch him, afraid his magic germs would taint their happy, normal family. "Last night was an accident -I should have ducked."

"You shouldn't have to duck, Harry!" Sirius exclaimed in a mixture of frustration and concern. "Spirits, Albus, you promised me Arabella would inform you immediately if she saw anything like this happen!"

"Arabella admits that she fears Harry isn't eating enough or the Dursleys treat him poorly, but she has never informed me of a time that either his aunt or uncle has raised a hand to the boy. I wouldn't have it." The man's adamant response was filled with confident certainty that he would have removed Harry from Number 4 Privet Drive in a heartbeat if he had any reason to believe the Gryffindor was being physically mistreated. There was also a tinge of honest concern with how everything seemed to be falling apart around him.

Quatre's teal eyes nearly glowed with triumph as he purred darkly, "So you believe emotional and verbal abuse are perfectly acceptable, and physical abuse can be ignored as long as it's just between the boys -but when you hear of Vernon Dursley striking Harry in a fit of rage, you are beside yourself over how unforgivable the man's actions are? My, my, Headmaster, the manner in which you sort your priorities is most unorthodox."

"Mr. Winner," Dumbledore said genteelly, attempting to somehow erase the dangerous gleam from Quatre's eyes with soft, earnest words and slow, submissive hand gestures, "there are several very important reasons Harry must be with his relatives for as long as possible during th–"

Winner was on his feet in an instant, both hands slamming down on the surface of the desk before him; none of the room's occupants expected such a hostile reaction, for they all flinched (in Harry's case, gasped) in shock. A derisive, wrathful sneer twisted his angelic face as he hissed, "Don't patronize me. Don't you fucking _ever_ patronize me."

Heero slowly came to his feet, the hand closest to his gun held out and splayed -a nonthreatening gesticulate. "Quatre, you need to calm down. If we honestly wanted him dead, I would have brought Duo instead."

Quatre didn't even spare his friend a look before he sharply demanded, "Stand down, Yuy."

Heero didn't move. "Quatre-"

"_That's an order, soldier._"

And Heero stood down.

_Nothing really makes sense anymore_, Draco mused to himself, almost one entire side of his brain numb with shock. _Should I be upset that I'm not more upset about this?_

That was probably the shock talking.

Once certain that Heero wouldn't interfere, Quatre smirked callously down at Dumbledore's blank face before murmuring, "That won't work, hiding from me. I know what you're feeling, even if you don't want me to. I can tell when you're being sincere, when you are being deliberately deceitful... when you're lying to me." Quatre's smirk widened maliciously. "It's very fortunate for you that you didn't lie to me, Headmaster. I don't take well to being lied to.

"Harry explained the protection against Voldemort his aunt's blood provided him. The blood his aunt shares with Lily Potter -the blood that's supposed to protect him." Quatre paused for a long, deliberately drawn out moment before he stated flatly, "We also deduced that his aunt's blood protection became meaningless after Voldemort used Harry's blood to return. And yet... you still sent him back. Not once. Not twice. Three times. Very puzzling, don't you agree?"  
Dumbledore didn't so much as flinch.

"I understand," Quatre went on, an empty smile on his face as he finally straightened, lifting his angry red palms from the desk. "You're so easy to read, Headmaster -perhaps it's because you and I are so alike? Master strategists... The Chess masters." The blond smirked and leaned forward again, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he sing-songed, "I'm so much better at this game than you. Can't you tell? I'm already turning you into my king."(4)

The jeering countenance faded almost instantly as Quatre straightened again, his face once again carefully devoid of emotion. The boy seemed to be turning something around in his head absently, a stray thought of his own making or an emotion that Dumbledore was unwilling to reveal. No one quite knew what the blond was thinking; they only knew that, when he spoke once more, his voice was oddly deadpan, a note of finality the only thing that put any meaning behind his words.

"I don't hate you, Headmaster. I don't like you very much right now, but I don't hate you. In fact, I think I respect you, in my own way. It's only for the sake of better relations between our camps that I will silently bear the secrets behind your methods. Nevertheless, you will not force Harry to do something he doesn't want to do. He's of legal age now; if you didn't have a legal leg to stand on before, you certainly don't now."

A small amount of warmth was returning to the boy's voice and eyes, and a true smile of kindness was beginning to tilt the corners of Quatre's mouth. Politely, without an infliction of hostility or ice, the Winner heir added, "I appreciate that you answered all of my questions about the Dursleys truthfully. Even if what Harry said was true -that the Dursleys only physically lashed out at him occasionally- I'm a great deal less angry with you for being unaware. I understand that things like that are sometimes hidden too well, and I'm sure Ms. Arabella would have reported it to you immediately if she saw any proof of it.

"You were very sincere when you said you would have removed Harry from that environment at the first whisper of physical abuse, and I'm very relieved by that. Please keep in mind that physical health isn't everything; if Harry has any chance of being a strong, confident young man (and I have no doubt in my mind that he will), he needs positive reinforcement and not constant derision. I can guarantee that he'll receive plenty of encouragement for the month he will be staying with us at Draco's manor."

The more words that tumbled smoothly from the Winner heir's lips, the more it seemed like the old Quatre was slowly returning. Only faint shadows of the predator were left in his wide teal eyes filled with understanding and respect, and those shadows were quickly fading. Soon the predator had almost completely bled away from the blond, his body language shifting once more, open and friendly but... cautious.

Dumbledore silently contemplated the Hufflepuff standing across from the desk he'd adopted as his own, nothing of his facial expression or his typically expressive blue eyes allowing even a glimpse behind what the man was thinking or feeling. Then the man slowly tilted his head to Quatre, a humble sort of smile barely lifting the corners of his mouth. "Very well, Mr. Winner. I have no doubt you'll succeed in what you've set out to achieve."

Well... damn. Quatre did it. Quatre actually talked the Albus Dumbledore into a corner. A seventeen year old boy succeeded where many who were older and (would claim to be) much wiser than the muggle-raised halfblood had failed. Oddly, Draco thought there needed to be a celebration to mark the momentous occasion. A celebration in which there would be a serving of cake and wine.

Quatre's smile almost lit up the entire room alone. "Of course, Headmaster."

"The hearing will be held at ten hundred hours in two days," Heero spoke up, receiving some invisible sign from the Hufflepuff that indicated it was safe for him to take the floor. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger must be present here tomorrow if I'm going to prepare them for both the examination and the cross examination. With added testimony from Harry and Draco, including the amount of evidence I've managed to mount against any defensive argument, Sirius Black should officially be declared a free man by next week, barring any rampant stupidity on the Ministry's part."

"Yeah," Draco said dryly, "you might want to prepare for that. Wherever the Ministry is involved, stupidity usually follows."

"Our society won't tolerate another mistake on Fudge's behalf," Severus said dismissively, breaking his silence. "If Yuy does manage to prove Black's innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt, we might be looking at a hasty election for a new Minister of Magic."

"Wufei will be ecstatic," Quatre replied with a knowing smile. "He doesn't think very highly of the ethics of the Minister and his cabinet."

Their business completed, Sirius took it upon himself to escort the four boys to the crackling hearth in the living room. The older convict took this rare opportunity to share some private words with his godson, and even made a cheerful jibe or two at the expense the somber Japanese Slytherin. Heero, by then nearly immune the quick-witted through the efforts of his rather loquacious boyfriend, took the teasing with a grain of salt and a barely audible "hn."

It did not escape the Potions Master's notice that Yuy was only remaining close to Potter's side as a precautionary measure, which fed his blasted curiosity even more. Was Yuy concerned that Black would attempt to force Potter to stay behind, and if so, why? There were too many contrived answers for such a vague question, and that unsettled the spy more than he was willing to admit. The sad fact of the matter was, almost all of those contrived answers lead to a more interesting and frustrating question: What was their drive?

A Hufflepuff who, despite his congenial and approachable disposition, had quite a venomous bite in him; a Ravenclaw who spent more of his free time approaching various professors for slips allowing him in the Restricted Section, always with the perfect excuse as to why he needed particular books; a Slytherin who kept to himself, enough so that no student nor professor noticed when the boy was about when they discussed private matters; another Slytherin who was every bit as analytical of every situation as Severus himself was, though the boy wasn't above resorting to violence when it was necessary; and a Gryffindor who was persistent to catch anyone for daunting chats filled with such wit, his very nature so friendly and open and trustful that one could not help but to confide in him.

These weren't normal teenagers; not by muggle standards, and certainly not by wizarding standards! No, these five companions were more than just friends. They were a well-trained _unit_. The strategian, the researcher, the spy, the analyst, and the undercover agent -all within a single group of five extremely gifted teenagers who could probably show seasoned Aurors a thing or two. Specifically trained at such an early age to take advantage of any and every military procedure that could be thrown at them...

These boys weren't mere boys. They were some form of highly respected (possibly decorated) special operations force. So highly regarded that they rubbed friendly elbows with not only the head of that muggle Preventers group, but the muggle Vice Foreign Minister, as well.

Yet... How dangerous _were_ they?

Winner and Draco lagged behind Black, Potter, and Yuy, probably to allow Black and Potter some semblance of privacy. It gave Severus the perfect opportunity to soothe his curiosity. He towered beside Draco, who seemed to be speaking rather adamantly to Winner.

"You need to show that side of you more often," Draco was saying excitedly, a wicked gleam in his grey eyes. "I mean, spirits, I thought you were going to give the Headmaster a coronary!"

Severus cleared his throat pointedly, drawing Draco's immediate attention. The boy appeared sheepish, possibly ashamed that he'd forgotten that his favorite professor was present. Nevertheless, the Potions Master allowed the slightest of smirks when he quietly murmured, "Perhaps it is best you keep your exuberance over this matter to yourself, or at least until you can accurately deliver a detailed word by word recollection to Maxwell in a more reserved manner."

"Well, it's not every day one is privileged to see a Hufflepuff everyone perceives as rather mild-mannered back a crafty man like Dumbledore into a corner," Draco murmured slyly in response. "Quatre's certainly proved to be more than worthy of his mother's heritage."

Considering that Winner's father was a muggle, Draco's addendum was... almost mind-blowing.

Winner's face almost split in two, his face absolutely beaming. "Mr. Black, I do believe that's a very high compliment in your regards. It's possibly the most respectful thing you've ever said to me."

Ah. So Winner understood the full implications of Draco's statement, as well.  
"I wouldn't let it get to your head," Draco said slyly before, after a pause, adding, "... cousin."

Winner laughed in delight. "I've never had a cousin before."

"Oh, you have several distant relations on the Malfoy side," Draco said with a dismissive wave of his hand. The sly smirk never leaving his face, he cast his cousin a smug glance as he added, "but I'm your favorite."

Winner laughed again, softly this time, as he looked to Draco with dancing eyes. "Just like I'm your favorite out of all of your fifty-seven cousins from my side of the family."

"Fifty-seven!" Draco cried in disbelief, stopping directly on the threshold to the living room; the others were looking back at Draco with varying degrees of curiosity and interest.

"You know I have twenty-nine sisters," Winner said laughingly. "All of them are older than me. Most of my older sisters are married and have children of their own. I became an uncle to both a niece and two nephews when I turned four."

Draco muttered sullenly under his breath -if Severus heard correctly, it was something about Vikings, whatever that was supposed to mean- as he walked forward, the first to take a generous pinch of Floo powder and throwing it into the fire. The flame billowed out before bleeding into an emerald green that cast ominous shadows around the room.

The boy paused, glancing at Potter. "Well? Are you going through?"

Potter crossed his arms challengingly. "What's wrong with you going first?"

"Because Duo Maxwell lives to torment me, and he's bound to have booby trapped the fireplace for my inevitable arrival," Draco said with a dark scowl. "If you spring the trap, he'll feel guilty and weasel his way back into your good graces. If I do it, he'll laugh maliciously and take several incriminating photographs." Ah. Narcissa Black's patent I'll-get-it-worse-like-I-always-do-guilt-trip defense. A very wise maneuver, but certainly not for Draco. Narcissa, being a very quick-witted woman of her stature, could often convince any man, woman, child, or beast to bend over backwards to make her life easier. Draco, being a man, had to alter the defense to suit his sex and sounded less convincing and very indignant. (Severus strongly believed the only reason Draco wasn't a carbon copy of Narcissa was at Lucius' stern insistence that if Draco was going to be like his wife, the boy wasn't going to sound so, quote, "bitchy about it." Unquote. This, of course, didn't translate well to a four year old, and Draco took it to mean that he could be exactly how he wanted to be, as long as he acted more like a petulant child instead of a nagging wife.)

"Duo didn't booby trap the fireplace," Yuy said monotonously. "He wouldn't be able to safely determine whether or not Quatre would come through first. Trowa would have certainly deterred him if he tried."

"There," Potter said triumphantly, waving his hand to the fire. "After you, Draco."

Clearly, Potter was assuring Draco he had no intention of catering to the boy's every whim. That, of course, didn't sit well with Draco. When the blond began to make further protests against having to head into the lions' den first, Severus was immediately distracted from the scene that was unfolding when Winner, still standing in front of and slightly to the left of the Potions Master, quietly said, "You want to ask me something?"

Severus narrowed his eyes on the boy's back, reading nothing from his posture that would indicate what the blond was thinking. "What would you have done if the Headmaster had lied to you?"

Winner's head fell forward slightly, but when he spoke, he spoke with utter conviction. "Voldemort and his followers wouldn't have been his only concern," Winner replied quietly. "We're used to going against the odds; myself and the other four faced massive forces by ourselves, so going against Voldemort and Dumbledore at the same time would have been cakewalk.

"Harry is in a rather delicate situation for someone like him. With us, he can only become better prepared for what's to come. And... he's our friend. We've lost so many chances to make lasting relationships with people outside of our circle that we can't help but to both treasure and protect those we do have."

The Winner heir's head lifted again, and the blond's teal eyes met Severus' stony black gaze without flinching. "We've been treated like weapons before, Professor. To be treated as nothing more than something trained to kill... Harry doesn't deserve that. No one deserves that."

With one last searching glance, Winner turned to his friends and moved forward, a genteel lull in his melodic voice as he bravely volunteered to venture through the Floo Network first, effectively ending the almost-teasing banter that was transpiring between Draco and Potter. Green had faded from the fire long before, forcing the Winner heir to take another pinch of powder to renew the connection.

It didn't matter. Severus understood perfectly. He just found it rather difficult to believe.

They weren't even normal soldiers.

Any Slytherin worth his mantel knew well enough that it was important to keep up with important muggle events, even if they found it inherently displeasing to do so. While Severus wasn't quite as informed about the recent end of the war only a year and a half ago as he would like to admit, he still knew quite a bit more than the average pureblood wizard.

Five against the world...

Those colonial vigilantes the muggles called Gundam pilots; people who had frequent brushes with the higher political hierarchy and highly decorated military officials alike...

_Terrorists._

* * *

**_END CHAPTER SIX_ **

Teheh. I needed a Snape moment. :grins lopsidedly:

(1) Gordy and Babe! Get it? Get it?... Gaaah, stupid movies about talking pigs... :bows head shamefully: Never mind. Er, forget I made such a terrible joke.

(2) Look, here's the thing. Lily's blood protected Harry from Voldemort, right? It's because of Lily's blood protection that Harry had to stay with the Dursleys. So why did Harry have to go back to the Dursleys after Harry specifically reported that his mother's sacrifice was nullified because Voldemort had the same blood in his veins? (Might I add that Dumbledore appeared rather triumphant when Harry announced this, which just fuels my distaste for Dumbledore's methods even more.) After the events in his fourth year, Harry had every right to tell the Dursleys to sod off and stay wherever he was welcome. (Of course, he didn't find out about the protection Petunia had to offer him until the fifth book, but the fact Voldemort now has the same blood as Harry still applies to the situation.) It just doesn't make sense to me.

Did anybody else notice this, or did I just prove to all and sundry that I'm a complete nerd?

(3) Eh, Duo strikes me as a Star Wars nerd. Who am I to ignore whimsical fancy while I'm being fanon? As an afterthought, I would like to apologize for the completely unfound back-story as to why the Malfoys would legitimately hate muggles. I'm bound and determined to keep Draco exactly the way I like him -derisive and snotty as hell, and too set in his ways to change how he views muggles. He's too stubborn to give up ALL his bad qualities. (And really, isn't Draco's unforgivable character flaws something we all just secretly love to bits?)

(4) Quatre's making a Chess reference here. Why not a pawn, you wonder? Because pawns are actually useful, and Quatre would treasure them above all else. Sure, they only move forwards, or sideways if the move is right. However, once they reach the other side of the board, they become a better piece previously lost in battle. Dumbledore is Quatre's "king" because the king is not only truly the most vulnerable piece, but also needs to survive until the end of the game. Basically what Quatre is trying to say here is that he will personally use all of his skills to protect Dumbledore because he honestly believes the Headmaster is that important. On the other hand, he's also clearly informing Dumbledore that he'll begin his own game if the Headmaster persists in using his friends so carelessly.


	7. The Truth and Narcissa's Betrayal

**Author's Notes: DON'T BE A GIT. READ THIS. Got your attention? Good. You're not a git. :grins: I feel I need to explain something. I'm trying to work some of the elements of the fifth book into this fic for the sake of the Wizengamot trial, and I found it necessary to list things that happened in Harry's fifth year -the year before Duo and (eventually) the other pilots showed up. Obviously, Sirius Black isn't dead; Dumbledore paid more attention to what was going on in Harry's life and pried the whole "I'm having dreams of this, that, and the other that might involve something behind a door and blah blah blah" fiasco out of Harry before Voldemort could lure him to the Department of Mysteries. Harry was told of the prophecy, and Dumbledore made some spot-on assumptions as to why Voldemort was trying to lead Harry there.**

**Dolores Umbridge didn't take over Hogwarts in the name of the Ministry, so Dumbledore was present when Harry came running to him about Sirius being tortured at the Department of Mysteries. He was there to calm Harry down enough to call Sirius through the Floo and show him that Sirius was perfectly alright.**

**Again, I would like to point out that I changed things a little not because of my own arrogant need to have a relatively** **interesting character to play with, but because I started HPatSL long before the release of the fifth book, and I didn't feel like rewriting Harry as a sulky git. Sirius gets on my nerves more often than he entertains me, especially when it comes to Severus Snape. Sirius never expresses any remorse for almost getting Snape infected, or worse, torn to shreds by a werewolf who is supposed to be one of his best friends. He could have gotten Remus expelled and probably executed for the stunt he pulled, had it not been for James Potter.**

**(Mwahah! Sneaked in a rant about how Sirius pisses me off! Score!)**

**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review! Keep 'em** **coming, my lovelies -they fuel the fire of my artistic SOUL.**

**Okay, you can stop paying attention to me now. :grins: ONWARD!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Seven**_

* * *

****

Minister Cornelius Oswald Fudge was not worried. Why would he feel the need to be concerned? Despite the hearing that required the presence of everyone on the Wizengamot at the request of one Albus Dumbledore. The trouble-making Headmaster of Hogwarts politely declined to be involved in the hearing, for it was something that he had requested on the behalf of his students. The wizen man had been very explicit when he explained that he hadn't wanted to create a conflict of interest.

Of course, Cornelius almost declined to permit the hearing in the first place, but the students in question were... well, muggle-raised! It was further to his benefit that the eventual seventh years were only accepted into Hogwarts a year ago. What would they know of how the laws of the wizarding world were interpreted? Much like that meddlesome Vice Foreign Minister, these boys wouldn't be able to fully understand the way the Ministry and the wizarding world worked. (The Minister of Magic flinched in irritation at the memory of being slighted by the teenaged upstart that still belonged in school herself, Vice Minister Relena Dorlian. Really! Muggles!)

Cornelius did have a small niggling sense of doubt about the hearing. That meddling Headmaster hadn't been very forthcoming with what this supposed important matter was about, but he was confident that he would be able to head off any unsavory press. He was, after all, the Minister of Magic, and his word was law to the wizards of Great Britain.

Fifteen minutes before the hearing was to start, several Aurors walked in, carrying a slender box marked with the seal of the Ministry. Behind the Aurors (Shacklebolt and Tonks, if memory served correctly) came a young man Cornelius assumed was one of the students involved with whatever case that involved the Wizengamot's full attention.

_The boy could have taken the time to do something about that wild hair_, Cornelius noted absently. Otherwise, the boy certainly dressed appropriately, with his simple but clearly expensive white button-up dress shirt, unwrinkled black slacks, and glossy black loafers. His face revealed nothing of his intentions, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to be making note of every member of Wizengamot with cool, analytical interest.

Beside him, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Susan Bones leaned forward in her seat, her interest piqued. "This should be interesting," she murmured softly. Despite the purposefully lowered pitch of her voice, her words almost echoed amongst those of the Wizengamot.

"He's just a student," Dolores Umbridge replied sweetly; Cornelius could always rely on his Senior Undersecretary to side with him. "How interesting could this false hearing possibly be?"

"And what has inspired you to believe this hearing was false, Senior Undersecretary Umbridge?" Bones asked, her voice without infliction as she glanced to the Undersecretary. "I was under the impression we were all to approach this as we would any other hearing."

Dolores laughed shrilly. "Why, what important matter could a boy who has just been introduced into the wizarding world have that would require the attention of the Wizengamot, unless it is to show him an example of how wizarding justice is handled?"

Bones clearly didn't agree with Dolores, but she didn't pursue the matter further. Instead, she said knowingly, "That lad has the eyes of a seasoned Auror. As does his friend."

Friend?

Sure enough, when Cornelius looked toward the back of the room again, there was another student -a young man who definitely had Oriental ancestry, his black hair slicked back into a severe ponytail and his slanted ebony eyes only made even more striking by the pair of simple bifocals resting on the bridge of his nose. Unlike his companion, he wore an outfit of all white; white slacks that were tight around his ankles and a long-sleeved button-up coat, the style firmly screaming Asian.(1)

The moment Cornelius noticed that nuisance Boy Who Lived, his two lackeys, and Draco bloody Black sweep into the room as if they bloody owned the place, the Minister of Magic began to believe that he'd made a terrible mistake. That feeling increased tenfold when Albus Dumbledore casually ambled in right after them.

----------

"What is the meaning of this!" the man in the bowler hat bellowed, standing in his seat and pointing accusingly at Dumbledore. "You said you weren't going to be involved!"

Wufei, face expressionless, turned to look inquiringly at Yuy. The stoic Japanese boy nodded curtly once before turning his attention back to organizing his notes. So that was the Minister of Magic...

Wufei snorted derisively. Of course.

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me, Cornelius," Dumbledore said gaily, easily accepting a seat that one of his Order members, an Auror with bright orange hair and a slender, pointy nose, offered him. "I said I would abstain myself from the Wizengamot for this hearing to avoid a conflict of interest. I fully intend to support my students in their self-appointed task."

The Minister, clearly grasping at straws, turned his accusing finger to Potter. "And him? What's his involvement with this?"

Wufei cut in, his voice severe and unwavering when he responded, "Harry Potter is present as a witness, as is Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Draco Black." Wufei sneered when he added, "We cannot be blamed for your ignorance in this matter, Minister Fudge. We provided your office with a list of those who would be present for this hearing."

The man's face turned purple in outrage. The simpering twit that resembled a frog spoke up in defense of her Minister, saying, "Mr... Wu Fey, is it? You shouldn't speak to the Minister with such disrespect. It's rude." She spoke as if she was reprimanding a mere child. She also maligned his given name horribly, causing even Dumbledore to wince in sympathy.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_. Unable to stop himself, he said coldly, "Chang _Wufei_. Chang is my surname." He lifted his nose to the woman, his expression fairly screaming that he considered himself far superior to the Senior Undersecretary. Considering she was at a much higher elevation than he, this was quite a feat. "I am the head of the Chang Clan of L5, and I conduct myself just as the head of my clan would. Minister Fudge is not behaving with as much dignity as one of his position should by throwing around wild accusations that impugn the honor of my companions, Headmaster Dumbledore, and myself.

"Furthermore," Wufei added pointedly, staring directly at the frog-faced woman, "you are showing me disrespect by speaking to me as if I'm nothing but a child. It would do you well to rid yourself of the ridiculous notion that I cannot string together a perfectly cohesive sentence, Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, especially considering how you've neglected to introduce yourself beforehand."

The woman's wide, slack mouth dropped open, the color bleeding from her face as she stared wordlessly at Wufei. Some of the members of the Wizengamot shifted; others hid their amused smiles behind their hands.

The monocle-wearing middle-aged woman on the other side of Fudge wore a look on her face that lead Wufei to believe she was knew exactly what to expect. The volume of her voice almost startled him when she said, "Senior Undersecretary Umbridge's rudeness aside, Mr. Chang, I can't help but to notice you already knew both her name and position." Her smile was razor sharp when she added, "I am Madam Bones."

Ah. A sign of intelligence. Maybe the wizarding world wasn't so hopeless after all.

Wufei bowed at the waist, as was the custom for his culture. He showed nothing but the upmost respect when he replied humbly, "An astute observation; I would expect no less from the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones."

"You cannot sway members of the Wizengamot with simple flattery, sir," Fudge bumbled angrily, still scrambling to save face at being spoken to in such a manner.

Wufei narrowed his eyes at the man and straightened his spine immediately. "Flattery!" he spat, offended. "Flattery is a coward's tool, Minister, and I'm no coward! There is no dishonor in showing respect towards one of Madam Bones' position. She carries herself as one of her stature should, and she is to be honored for it."_ Unlike you_, was the unvoiced addition. Unvoiced, but certainly implied.

"Please be seated, Minister Fudge," Bones' voice boomed, her face calm and unreadable. "Mr. Chang's culture is very different from ours. Throwing around such accusations is insulting to him, and provides the wrong impression on the Wizengamot. If you continue to behave in such a manner, I'll be forced to call for a vote as to whether you should be excluded from this hearing."

The fool began making some empty protest ("I'm the Minister of Magic! You can't exclude me from this!") when Bones cut him off with a stern, "Minister, you will carry yourself with the dignity of the Wizengamot. Your reputation won't be the only one to be called into question if you continue to blunder through this like a spoiled child."

The Minister fell silent before loudly throwing himself back into his seat, clearly intent on making his displeasure known through his stubborn silence.

"Wipe those smirks from your faces," Yuy whispered lowly, his lips barely moving. Potter and Weasley's smirks melted away, replaced by faint surprise. The Japanese Slytherin hadn't even looked at them to know they had been grinning so widely at Wufei's bold approach to the Wizengamot.

A chime echoed around the room, and Wufei automatically glanced at his watch to assure the meaning of the sound. It had just turned ten; it was time for the trial to officially begin.

Fudge, finicky and clearly frustrated, tried to suppress his anger when he calmly asked, "What is this hearing all about, Dumbledore?"

This guy was making it entirely too easy to insult him. "You will be addressing either myself or my companion Heero Yuy on this matter," Wufei said stiffly, clasping his hands behind his back with his shoulders bared back. "The Headmaster has nothing to do with our case." He narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Did you not receive our report, Minister Fudge? It was sent to you on the morning of August 1st."

Wufei knew exactly where that report had ended up, if Shacklebolt's testimony was to be believed. It remained at the very bottom of a staggering pile of files that the Minister had been neglecting in favor of campaigning for his next election.

The man's face reddened again, and he said haughtily, "I don't believe my office received your report, Mr. Chang."

"Lying git," Potter whispered lowly, unnoticed to the Wizengamot.

Wufei didn't bother to pursue the matter. He motioned toward Yuy, who stood from his seat behind the table and replied tonelessly, "This hearing is held solely for the benefit of the escaped felon Sirius Black, who we believe was unjustly convicted of crimes he did not commit."

The Wizengamot _exploded_ into sound.

----------

Meanwhile, an unexpected guest shrouded in dark blue traveling robes was resolutely marching up the steps that lead to the entrance of Black Manor. The woman -for she was clearly female, as her jaunty humming was light and melodious- had nothing with her that would indicate anything more than a lost traveler. However, judging by the way she elegantly swept through the threshold of the door and calmly shut it behind her said differently.

Almost immediately, two wands were trained on the unknown interloper. The figure hardly twitched to belay concern for her state; in fact, her wand was also poised in the air, pointing right back at the two boys. Her mouth -perhaps the only visible part of her face, as her hood obscured most of everything else- was painted red and tilted back in a small smirk.

"My, how rude. Didn't either of your mothers ever teach you any manners?" she asked casually, revealing a row of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth.

"Can't see how they could've," the boy with the braid delivered just as casually, his easy-going smile hinting at the depths of the regret she would be feeling if she made a move he deemed inappropriate, "seeing as how both our moms died giving birth to us."

Interesting.

"Funny you should mention mothers," she said meaningfully, only to be cut off from further reply when the little blond one politely (but sternly) interrupted.

"I'm sorry, but I believe you were the one who brought mothers into question, Miss...?"

Fair enough. She reached up with her empty hand slowly and pulled back her hood. Her perfect flaxen curls tumbled from their confines, falling about her perfectly sculptured cheeks and the slim line of her jaw. Her eyes were icy blue and cutting with intelligence, shadowed with a light coat of powdery blue eyeshadow.

"Ms.," she said, correcting the boy casually. "Ms. Narcissa Black."

"Hey," the American said laughingly, "she's dragon boy's mom!" She noticed, vaguely amused, that his wand did not waver at his own announcement.

And then her water broke, splashing wetly all over the marble floor.

Silence.

"I don't suppose either of you know how to deliver a baby," Narcissa said nonchalantly a moment later, enjoying the slow realization that seemed to dawn to the boys at the same time despite the sudden contraction that followed. The blond one's eyes widened, focused almost entirely on the protruding stomach that was almost hidden underneath her robes. The loud American's jaw went slack with both surprise, the corners of his anxious amethyst eyes tightening worriedly.

As one, the boys turned to each other helplessly. Narcissa almost laughed, as both had seemed too dumbfounded by their current predicament to have the presence of mind to lower their wands.

"I'm the youngest," the blond whispered immediately.

"I know more about taking _care_ of kids than delivering them," the American hissed. That was good to know; with him around, she could probably convince him to babysit while she worked on her neglected tan.

As one, they reached the same conclusion. "_Trowa_!"

Narcissa was surprised when a taller boy... fell from the ceiling. _Damn, missed that one_. Then, _How in the world was he clinging to the -oh. Chandelier._

One calm green eye met hers, the other hidden by a tuft of light brown hair that fell over almost half of his face. "Quatre, you need to inform the house-elves. We'll need towels, warm water, and a fresh set of sheets need to be present for afterwards. Duo, go to Draco's potion lab and find the strongest painkilling potions. Bring them all."

Oh, good. Someone who knew what he was doing.

"I take it you've done this before," Narcissa said idly as the other boys scrambled to do what they were told.

"I've helped several lionesses deliver their young," he said quietly, finally turning to her. "I hope you forgive us for the state of your room, Ms. Black. Draco recently convinced Duo to wear some of your clothes, and it took him some time to find a proper outfit."

_That's my boy_. "The American? He would look good in a dress," Narcissa mused, taking the boy's offered arm as he led her toward the staircase. She raised an eyebrow curiously. "You're not going to carry me up the stairs?"

"Walking will speed up the birthing process," the boy said solemnly. "It should also dull the pain of labor."

It appeared this one wasn't going to be so easy to manipulate. _Drat. And why the hell didn't the midwife I used for Draco tell me something useful like that? If the old crone weren't already dead, I'd make her wish she was._

----------

It took less time than he'd originally thought to convince the Wizengamot that their case was worthy of the court's time. The only real trouble they had was get that idiot Fudge to stop blubbering about how the Ministry didn't make mistakes so the hearing could finally be underway.

"Minister!" Bones bellowed sharply.

The moron made an irate noise in the back of his throat before finally giving up, sitting down in defeat.

"Now if we can officially open this hearing," Bones said meaningfully, her eyes daring the Minister to make even more of a spectacle of himself. Several reporters from respectable newspapers had filed into the courtroom in the middle of Fudge's tirade, and all were eagerly taking notes of what had happened thus far. Bones was clearly displeased by the lack of professionalism, as were almost all the members of the Wizengamot.

Grumbling, the Minister said snootily, "Hearing of the third of August, into offenses committed by one Sirius Black on the morning of November 1st, AC 181, that include conspiring with the Dark Lord, breaking his oath as the Secret Keeper of Lily and James Potter, resulting in their deaths; the murder of the wizard Peter Pettigrew, as well as twelve muggles; and blatantly using magic in front of and around muggles; all crimes of which the convict Sirius Black has already been sentenced to a lifetime in Azkaban.

"Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

"Relative of yours?" Wufei murmured from the corner of his mouth, directed to the simmering redhead that sat behind him and to the right.

"No relative of mine betrays his family," Weasley replied, seething in his seat and glaring at the older redhead who was busily writing down the proceedings of the trial.

"Solicitors for the defense, Chang Wufei, seventh year Ravenclaw at Hogwarts; and Heero Yuy, seventh year Slytherin at Hogwarts.

"Witnesses for the defense, Hermione Anne Granger, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Draco Julius Daemon Monroe Black, and Harry James Potter."

One of the reporters in the back of the courtroom murmured excitedly to his associate upon the grudgingly bitter announcement of Potter's presence. The interruption went largely ignored, save for a stern glance from behind a monocle.

The toad woman leaned forward, and Fudge immediately announced, "The Chair recognizes Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister."

"Please forgive my early interruption," the woman tittered sweetly, "but how are we supposed to pass judgement on a convict that cannot be present for his own hearing?"

"As Sirius Black is currently on the run," Wufei said solemnly, all traces of earlier derision having left both his posture and voice, "we have no way of contacting someone who does not want to be found. We were intrigued about the process of the previous conviction of Sirius Black when we heard of it. No justice can be met if a man is deprived of a proper trial, no matter how guilty he appears."

The woman tittered again. "But Mr. Chang, this very hearing seems to indicate to me that you have at least briefly met the convict."

"That would be against the law, Madam Umbridge," Wufei said quietly. "To suggest I would so readily break laws that have been established far before my time would be an insult to my honor."

A warning look from Bones successfully quailed anything the toad would say about that matter. Satisfied, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement boomed, "Proceed."(2)

Wufei straightened his posture once more. "I would like to remind the Wizengamot that all of our witnesses have volunteered their testimony under contracts which explicitly state that they are to be asked questions pertaining to this case and only this case. It's very important to observe this fact, as all of them have sworn to deliver their testimony under the effects of the truth serum known as Veritaserum. Mr. Yuy will be prepared to magically silence any of the witnesses should any of the questions stray from our original purpose -to prove that Sirius Black is innocent beyond a shadow of a doubt."

The members of Wizengamot shifted restlessly for a moment; most eyes were focused particularly on Draco Black.

"Noted," Fudge said grudgingly. "Continue."

Wufei nodded curtly. "The first witness to call is Draco Julius Daemon Monroe Black."

Black stood from his seat beside Potter and stepped into the isle before resolutely making his way to the front of the Wizengamot. He was swiftly administered three drops of Veritaserum by the orange-haired Auror. Wufei watched carefully as the tension visibly left the former Malfoy heir's shoulders. He visibly struggled to remain aware of what was happening, which Wufei approved of wholeheartedly.

"State your name for the record," Fudge called.

Black replied almost absently, "Draco Julius Daemon Monroe Black."

After receiving a motion from Fudge, Wufei continued, "Mr. Black, what happened on the day of February 14th, AC 197?"

"I was kidnaped by Death Eaters while visiting Hogsmeade with a friend," Draco replied, still sounding oddly vacant.

"Who was already with the Dark Lord when you were presented to him?"

"A man with a false arm made of adamant," Draco said vaguely.

"Did you learn his name?"

"They called him Wormtail."

"Did the name sound familiar to you?"

"Yes."

"Who told you about a man named Wormtail?"

"Harry briefly mentioned one of his father's friends went by the nickname of Wormtail," Draco replied.

"Did you know why he was known as Wormtail to his father's friends?"

"Not at the time."

"So you found out later?"

"Yes."

"Why is he called Wormtail?"

"He is an illegal Animagus," Draco said, still vacant, "that can transform into a rat."

Wufei pulled a picture from the thick file that rested on the table that had been provided and showed it to Black. "Is this a picture of Wormtail?"

Draco glanced at it for a moment before replying, "Yes."

Wufei held the picture for all of the Wizengamot to see. "Let the records show that the picture is a presumably dead man known as Peter Pettigrew."

For the second time in an hour, the Wizengamot exploded into furious whispers. The reporters, too, seemed to be particularly enthralled by the news as their quills scratched erratically at parchments set out before them. Wufei calmly handed Shacklebolt the picture, who then passed it to a nameless woman in the first row. She eagerly studied the picture for what it was as those around her eagerly leaned over her shoulder or closer to her side.

"It is!" a man behind the woman exclaimed. "That's Peter Pettigrew, all right!"

"Preposterous!" Fudge bellowed. "Peter Pettigrew is dead -killed by Sirius Black alongside twelve muggles!"

"Then how is it that a man identified as Peter Pettigrew is among the Death Eaters that kidnaped Mr. Black?" Bones' voice boomed over the ruckus. "It certainly calls for reasonable doubt, Minister Fudge."

"And another thing," Fudge trampled on, "You Know Who is most certainly dead! How could this dead man be in the presence of another? It's preposterous!"

"Mr. Black," Bones began, "did you see the Dark Lord yourself?"

"Yes."

"He is most certainly alive?"

"Yes."

Bones leaned back in her chair, frowning severely. "It's impossible to lie under the effects of Veritaserum, Minister Fudge. For all intent and purposes, Draco Black has seen both Peter Pettigrew and the Dark Lord, alive and well."

Pandemonium followed her announcement.

"Settle down," Bones demanded loudly. The room immediately plunged into silence. "This hearing will continue for the sake of justice. Such matters will be dealt with outside of the Wizengamot.

"Mr. Black," she addressed the boy again, "there was another boy taken on the previously mentioned evening. What's his name?"

Some flicker of awareness was back in Black's eyes when he replied, "Duo Maxwell."

"What's your relationship with Mr. Maxwell?"

"He's the aforementioned friend that was with me in Hogsmeade."

"Why isn't he here as well?" Fudge demanded hotly.

Yuy was already tightening his grip around the handle of his wand when Draco flawlessly replied, "He doesn't like talking about what happened."

Wufei scowled at the man. "Duo Maxwell, as far as anyone is aware, is a halfblood. While Death Eaters reportedly only hold so much against halfbloods, his defiant nature didn't hold well with the Death Eaters he persisted to fight against. He was also responsible for the injury of three of their companions and the death of two others." It didn't hurt to imply that Maxwell had been tortured by Death Eaters for his actions.

"You may go back to your seat, Mr. Black," Bones announced. Black nodded once and immediately went back to his seat.

"As my second witness, I call Harry James Potter."

With silent, reassuring glances from his friends, Potter inhaled deeply before slowly coming to his feet and stepping forward. Like Black, Shacklebolt administered the proper dosage of the truth serum before backing away, and Bones requested that Potter state his full name for the record.

"Mr. Potter," Wufei began, "What happened on the eve of June 3rd, AC 193?"

"My friend Ron Weasley was taken to the Shrieking Shack by Sirius Black," Potter replied dazedly. Wufei silently hoped that Potter would be able to withhold as much incriminating evidence against himself as Black had done for his father and Maxwell.

"And you followed him?"

"Yes."

"Who else?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Weasley was taken on Hogwarts' grounds?"

"Yes."

"How did he drag Weasley all the way to the Shrieking Shack without being seen?"

"There's a secret tunnel under the Whomping Willow."

"Did he happen to mention why he took Weasley and not you?"

"He was after Ron's rat."

Some of the members of the Wizengamot -including Bones- seemed to make the connection, or began to suspect where Potter's testimony was leading.

"Why Weasley's rat?"

"He claimed that the rat was actually a man named Peter Pettigrew."

Several people exploded into whispers, only to be silence by another stern glare from Bones.

"Did he explain the significance of this accusation?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"That Peter Pettigrew was my parents Secret Keeper. That he covered his tracks by turning his wand on a street full of muggles, cut off his own finger, and fled in his Animagus form."

"Did you believe him?"

"No."

"Did Black explain how he knew Weasley would be in the possession of the rat?"

"An article in the Daily Prophet provided to him by the Minister," Potter said quietly.

"Do you remember the article in question?"

"Ron's family had won a large sum of money. They were going to Egypt to visit his brother. Scabbers was in the picture with Ron and his family."

"What made him think Weasley's pet was actually Peter Pettigrew?"

"The rat was missing a finger."

Wufei signaled Yuy, who stood and pulled another picture from the file. He handed it to Shacklebolt to pass on to the Wizengamot as Wufei said, "Let the record show that the Wizengamot is being presented a picture of Peter Pettigrew's severed finger."

"What is the point of this?" Fudge demanded irritably, his eyelid twitching nervously. Obviously the man was starting to realize he was fighting a losing battle.

"I'll allow Yuy to explain," Wufei replied, backing away and allowing Yuy to take the floor.

"There are several things wrong with the only physical evidence that Pettigrew was harmed," Yuy said emotionlessly. "For one, the cut at the joint is very deliberate, as if administered with a very sharp knife. If Pettigrew had been incinerated as reports claimed, the cut should have been jagged. The flesh around the cut also isn't singed as it should be.

"If the blast was weak enough to leave a finger behind," Yuy continued, "the logical conclusion would be that there should have been something else left behind. I went over the Aurors' reports carefully; none of them mentioned anything of blood spatter around the area that Pettigrew was standing when the blast reached the victims. Likewise, they found no other evidence that Pettigrew had actually been killed in the blast. It's highly probable that Black was telling Harry the truth about what happened November 1st, AC 181."

"But Black had been laughing like a madman when the Aurors showed up," a member of the Wizengamot loudly protested.

Yuy already had an answer for Black's suspicious behavior. "A man he trusted betrayed not only the Potters, but Black himself. It's likely that Sirius Black had a mild psychotic break when he realized the implications of what Pettigrew had done."

"I have more questions for Mr. Potter while he is under the potion's influence," Wufei announced.

"It hardly seems necessary at this point," someone mumbled, but Bones nodded curtly and urged Wufei to continue.

"Did he ever explain why he escaped Azkaban?"

"To kill Peter Pettigrew."

"For betraying his friends?"

"Yes."

"Was the rat in question revealed to be Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

"Did Pettigrew admit to being the Potters' Secret Keeper?"

"Yes." Potter's eyebrow notably ticked, the only sign of his potion-suppressed anger.

"Did he admit to killing all twelve muggles?"

"Yes."

"What was his excuse?"

"That Voldemort," more than half of those present gasped and cringed at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, "was powerful and would have killed him if he hadn't agreed."

"What happened to Peter Pettigrew after that?"

"I convinced Sirius to take him to Dumbledore as proof of his innocence."

"What happened in the process of this?"

"Pettigrew escaped."

"Did you try to explain this to the Minister?"

"He was under the impression that I'd been Confunded."

"Did you ever see Pettigrew again?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"In my fourth year, the day Cedric Diggory died."

"Who killed Cedric Diggory?"

"Peter Pettigrew, under the order of Voldemort."

"Then what happened?"

"He cut off his own arm to bring Voldemort back."

"Did he succeed?"

"Yes."

"When you escaped, did you try to tell anyone about what happened?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone believe you?"

"Dumbledore believed me."

"Did anyone in the Ministry believe you?"

"Not anyone with authority."

"Who was the most vocal doubter?"

"Minister Fudge."

When Wufei saw that the idiot Minister was beginning to protest the mention of his name, the Chinese youth quickly asked, "Why did he believed you were lying?"

"I'd been receiving bad press because of the Triwizard Tournament," Potter said absently.

"Why were you receiving bad press?"

"Rita Skeeter slandered me because I wouldn't give her the story that she wanted."

_There_, Wufei thought viciously, sending the Minister a pointed glare. _I saved you this much face. Don't make me regret it. _Thankfully, the man wasn't as stupid as Wufei originally thought, which didn't automatically mean that the Minister of Magic wasn't the idiot he was.

"I have no more questions," Wufei announced solemnly.

Apparently, the toad woman wasn't as inclined to give up the ghost of the matter as the rest of her companions. "Mr. Potter," she said simperingly, "wasn't there another... man... with you when Sirius Black was apprehended after your first encounter with him?"

"Professor Lupin."

"Remus Lupin, who was outed as a werewolf at the end of your third year?"

"Yes."

"Did he help Sirius Black?"

"Not at first."

"Oh?" The woman smiled triumphantly. "So he eventually came to the aid of the convict?"

"Professor Lupin didn't help Sirius until he saw Pettigrew with his own eyes," Potter said, his green eyes blazing with a little more clarity than before.

"Professor Severus Snape was there, too, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"What happened to him?"

"I stupefied him."

"Oh, my," the woman tisked. "Why ever would you do that to a professor of Severus Snape's caliber?"

"He allowed a childhood rivalry to overshadow reason. I wanted proof that Pettigrew was still alive. Snape wasn't willing to allow the situation to progress any further."

"So you yourself aided the convict?"

Potter gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"_Before_ you had evidence that Pettigrew was still alive?"

"Yes."

Wufei stepped forward, glowering at the woman. _Bitch_! "Harry Potter was thirteen years old at the time. You cannot honestly suggest he should pay for a crime committed at a time in which he wouldn't have understood the full implications of his actions, especially when it involved casting doubt over who really betrayed his parents! Potter's hasty actions were at the interest of justice!"

"Of course not," Bones replied firmly, glaring at the toad on the other side of Fudge. "Unless you have something more to say, Senior Undersecretary, I suggest you drop this line of questioning."

The woman's wide lips thinned, upset that her goal had been thwarted. At least it shut the bitch up.

"Mr. Potter," Bones said solemnly, "you may return to your seat."

Harry nodded shakily and hurried back to his seat. Black, a little more aware than before, merely brushed his hand comfortingly with Harry's while Granger gave his shoulder a consoling squeeze. Weasley reached around Granger's back and clapped his friend's back, whispering, "Good job, mate."

"Mr. Chang," Bones voice boomed, "unless Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger have more important testimony to add that is different from the statements we've already heard, I don't believe it's necessary to hear anymore."

"No, Madam Bones," Wufei said, smothering his triumphant smirk successfully. "I have one other matter to bring to the attention of the Wizengamot; physical evidence that we are positive will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sirius Black did not kill twelve innocent bystanders."

Bones eyebrows rose, and Wufei caught a glimpse of the red line her monocle had imprinted in the skin of her lower brow. "I see."

Wufei motioned silently toward the orange-haired Auror, who presented the slim, sealed box to the Wizengamot. "Here is Sirius Black's wand, collected and immediately sealed by the previous Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Only the Head of the DMLE can unseal the box. All it would take is one Priori Incantantem to prove that the spell used to kill the same aforementioned muggles did not come from Sirius Black's wand."

Bones nodded sharply and summoned the box to her. The tip of her wand pressed against the lid, the woman murmured a quiet phrase that didn't seem to carry as far as one with her voice would. The box shimmered, and Bones removed the wand from its box and held it for all to see.

"Priori Incantantem," her voice boomed, setting off an immediate reaction. "Let the records show that the spells from Black's wand are as followed: Apparate, Nox, Lumos, Finite Incantantem, Wingardium Leviosa..." It continued for quite a while before the Head of the DMLE cancelled her spell.

The courtroom was oddly silent.

"Those in favor of clearing the defendant Sirius Black of all charges?"

Countless hands rose confidently in the air.

"And those in favor of relying on Black's previous conviction?"

No one. Not even Fudge could defend his actions if he raised his hand. When it became clear to Bones that Fudge wasn't going to say anything else on the matter, she glared shortly at the man before bellowing, "Very well. Sirius Black is cleared of all charges. His innocence is to be made known to both wizards and muggles alike, and he is to be generously compensated for the grave injustice against him. The amount will be discussed later when he is able to be present. This hearing is now adjourned."(3)

Dumbledore, silent all of this time, smiled softly. "And justice has finally been served."

Wufei couldn't keep the triumphant smirk from his face as he gathered the files resting on the table, very aware of Potter and his friends' jubilant celebration. What was that phrase Black was so insistent on nattering about? Oh, yes. _Victory is sweet._

That was, until Weasley got a little overexcited and flung his arms around Wufei. "You are the_ coolest!_"

"_Get off me_!"

And damn Yuy for laughing.

----------

The party of teenagers that came through the Floo of Black Manor were certainly high-spirited.

"Did you see Wufei's face when the Weasel hugged him?" Draco crowed gleefully, much to the irritation of the Chinese Ravenclaw. "Brilliant! I almost don't hate Weasley right now!"

"Judging by the look on Wufei's face now, you'll be singing a different tune during your morning workout," Harry replied pointedly, still grinning from the euphoria the hearing left behind. Sirius was free! Sirius was actually free! Being there to witness it was like no other feeling.

He didn't know why Heero, Wufei, and on some part, Duo, Quatre, and Trowa decided to mount a defense for Sirius. If he had to guess, he would assume it was because Sirius helped them save Duo and Draco last February. Whatever made them decide didn't matter, though. Harry was just glad that they did it.

"Um," Quatre began hesitantly. "So... we won?"

"Un," Heero grunted, taking their folders and neatly filing them away in a desk drawer that he locked immediately after.

"That's good," Quatre said, glancing at Draco uncertainly. "Draco, your mother arrived earlier this evening."

Harry blinked. Draco absolutely froze in place for all but a moment before he shot out of the room like the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Quatre called for him to wait, but the former Malfoy heir didn't even slow down.

Instinctively, Harry ran after his boyfriend, arriving at the staircase just in time to hear Draco impatiently ask Trowa, who had been making his way down the winding staircase, where his mother was.

"Her room," Trowa replied. "Duo's with her right now."

"What the hell -Trowa! You left her alone with _Duo_? They're conspiring against me as we speak!" Draco wailed before continuing up the stairs at a dead run.

"I don't really think she's in the condition to do much in the way of conspiring," Harry heard Trowa murmur idly as he swept passed the Slytherin, clearly speaking to himself. (What Harry didn't hear was Trowa's next comment, made as an afterthought, "Then again, I could be wrong.")

Harry rounded the corner just in time to see his boyfriend fling open a door and rush into the room with a cry of, "Mother! What are you-"

And then Draco froze again. Only this time, it took him quite a while to recover.

Finally, the boy flatly said, "You bloody bitch."

Harry stared at Draco incredulously. Who in the world talked to their mother that way?

"I can't believe you did this to me," Draco continued, sounding more and more irate as he spoke. "Mother, how _could_ you?"

Harry peered over Draco's shoulder, blinking at the scene laid out before him. Duo appeared to be keeping the bed-ridden woman company; however, that wasn't what really caught Harry's attention. No, it was the small, wriggling bundle of cloth that the woman cradled in her arms that drew Harry's stare.

Clearly in the middle of nursing, Narcissa Black raised her head to lift a single eyebrow at her firstborn son. "Honestly, Draco -at your age, must I really explain how these things work? Insert tab A into slot B -beginning to ring any bells yet?"

Oh, _God_, there were two of them. The sly smirk, the cooly raised eyebrow of doom, the subtle lack of tact and the annoying predilection to speak in that all-knowing, ever-sarcastic tone of voice... Harry always thought that Draco was most like his father, but he was quickly beginning to realize that his boyfriend was almost all Narcissa Black.

Duo snickered, grinning playfully at Harry. "I don't know, Harry. Do you think your boyfriend needs a lecture about the birds and the bees?"

Harry felt his entire face heat up with embarrassment. His humiliation over being called out in front of his boyfriend's mother only increased when her attention turned to him, and her other eyebrow shot to the same height as the first.

Finally, she said, "Let me rephrase that. Draco, when you pleasure your man, be sure to swallow. Spitting is so undignified."(4)

Draco audibly choked on his indignation. Harry didn't blame him; he was overwhelmed by a strong desire to crawl under a damp rock and marinate in his mortification. Harry imagined the sensation must have been much worse for his boyfriend.

Duo, on the other hand, was clearly enjoying the family reunion. The second Narcissa's so-called advice was fully realized, the braided boy slapped his hands over his mouth as he feebly attempted to keep his roaring guffaws muffled, if only for the benefit of the tiny infant in Narcissa's arms.

"Dude, your mom is so cool," Duo said reverently once he managed to hold himself in a more collected manner. Narcissa visibly preened under the American's praised, obviously pleased that someone was so willing to compliment her.

----------

Narcissa Black had been having a terrible time. Simply awful! For the last five months she was left alone, to her own devises -pregnant and firmly within her right to verbally lash out at any ignorant git willing to even attempt to look her in the eye without visibly cowering. No matter how spiteful she would get, no matter how much she verbally trounced the weak-witted dullards that she came across, nothing could have replaced the aching emptiness left as bare in her heart as the space on her finger that had once indicated there was someone in her heart in the first place. now that finger was adorned with nothing.

She had so been looking forward to making Lucy suffer for getting her in this condition in the first place. There were very specific reasons why Draco was to remain an only child; Narcissa Black did not handle pregnancy very well. Her cravings were swift, vicious, disturbing, and oftentimes required Lucy to go to Knockturn Alley at the witching hour, cursing under his breath as he scoured the dangerous street for some exotic (possibly illegal) ingredient for his wife's favorite ice cream sundae with pickles concoction. Her mood swings were a force to be reckoned with, as Narcissa never wasted her time with tears and whimpering self-doubt over her expanding stomach. She was Narcissa effing Black, and she bared her belly to _no one_. Instead, she used her limitless supply of caustic barbs and scathing retorts to let anyone within hearing distance know exactly what she was thinking, and sod all who were offended. Again, Lucius had been there the first time around to withstand the full gale of what he later referred to as Narcissa's Pregnant Bitching.

That little comment, of course, left him locked in his precious Malfoy Mausoleum for a week... without bathroom breaks.

There had been one thing she had been looking forward to when she first realized her condition, and that was the hope that Draco would share in Lucius' torment. Oh, she valued her son above even her own soul, but that did not excuse the little bratling for forcing her through ten and a half hours of labor pain, thank you very much.

The small infant in her arms emitted a coo of sleepy contentment, drawing her attention down to the swaddled bundle almost magnetically. Small, wrinkly hands with stubby little fingers waved in the air slowly before his squinty blue eyes finally slid shut. His skin was almost purple, and he was quite the runty thing -only about six pounds and several ounces in weight; lengthwise, he was a bit on the short side as well.

Her lips curling in amusement, she murmured laughingly, "He looks like a house-elf."

Her son snorted, obviously still upset about his sudden big brother status. Narcissa glanced at him slyly from under hooded eyelids, adding lazily, "Why, he looks just like you when you were born, darling. A runty, prune-esque house-elf."

Potter had a difficult time hiding his snort of amusement, much to her son's petulant distress.

She didn't know what to think about Draco's sudden predilection for man meat; it wasn't as if she hadn't expected it -dear spirits, she was the boy's mother, after all. She mightn't have been the best woman for the job (though that opinion was reserved by the witless morons that married her husband's friends, and Narcissa Black certainly didn't think much of those dull-witted cows), but her fierce love and loyalty for her son was powerful, almost overwhelmingly so. She made it her business to know everything about Draco -what was going on in his life, who his friends were, whether he was content... Everything. She would have been lying to herself if she honestly hadn't expected that attraction to the male persuasion was a strong possibility.

In retrospect, it wasn't that her son had a boyfriend that bothered her. It was the fact that her son's boyfriend happened to be Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived and number one on the Dark Lord's People I Wish To Obliterate List. She could honestly care less about what that ruddy old blowhard of a Dark Lord thought about Potter, but she could almost imagine the rage Lucy would fly into the moment he received word that Draco was cornering Potter in a dark, abandoned corridor on business other than proving his own worth as a pureblood to the Golden Boy Gryffindor.

Narcissa snorted faintly. And _that_ should have been their _first_ clue. She'd been suspicious that Draco's obsession with Potter had a lot less to do with harming the Boy Who Lived and a lot more to do with getting in the boy hero's pants. It had been acceptable when Draco was younger, but when the obsession only seemed to worsen after fourth year, the beautiful woman had taken it upon herself to prod the subject of Draco being attracted to a Gryffindor with her husband.

When Lucy had laughed at her, however, she felt a lot less inclined to bring her suspicions to her son's attention; in fact, the entire subject seemed to fall to the wayside as she devised countless plots of vengeance geared toward her husband for daring to mock Narcissa Black. She wasn't an empty-headed trophy wife, damn it all. She didn't accomplish so much in her lifetime to be so casually sorted into a slot typically reserved for common livestock meant solely for breeding.

Stupid chauvinistic patriarchal _bastards_. At least Lucy made damn sure to treat her like an intelligent, worthy significant other and not something that merely warmed his bed at night.

At least... Before the divorce...

"Mother," her son's petulant complaint startled her from her contemplations, as if silently imploring her to please stop embarrassing him in front of his friends lest he decide to take offensive measures.

Narcissa snorted. Well, for the glory of the spirits, the last thing she wanted to do was catapult her precious bratling into a snit of epic proportion. Still... "There's no reason to whine, luv, and wipe that expression off of your face. You don't want to wrinkle prematurely, do you?"

"You tend to have that effect on people," her son retorted sourly, his expression relaxing from its sour expression. Narcissa preened under her son's unwitting praise, happy that he'd noted she went to so much trouble to make an impact on the lives of random victims she met daily.

"Says the little ingrate who has yet to give his precious mother even a hint of a warm hello," Narcissa said to her son with a sweetly mocking smile. "Really, the concern you hold for your loving mum after almost an entire year of separation is dismally low. I always knew you were an ungrateful brat."

Draco sighed in irritation and said dryly, "Hello, Mum. I apologize for my lack of decorum, but as you can see, I didn't expect you. Or..." Oooh, there was that nervous tick under Draco's left eye that she enjoyed seeing so much. He made an irritable wave toward her, more specifically, the bundle in her arms. "... that."

"That happens to be your new baby brother," Narcissa said smugly. "I'm sure you are absolutely ecstatic about him. Now, be a cordial little brat and introduce me to your new friends. I'm sure you've been dying for them to meet me."

"Not exactly the phrase I would use," Draco mumbled sullenly. "Mum, the charming idiot beside you is Duo Maxwell, and I'm sure you've at least heard of the awkwardly quiet guy standing behind me. You know -Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Guy That The Braided Idiot Outed As My Boyfriend Not Moments Ago?"

"We've met," Potter said hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable and perhaps slightly timid. E gads, no wonder Draco was head over heels for the runt; the poor boy had all of the composure of a frequently kicked puppy. She supposed being the number one enemy of Voldemort did that to a person.

Of course she remembered the only moment she had been graced with Harry Potter's presence; however, she didn't _like_ thinking about that time because she bloody despised Quidditch and large groups of people, and the Quidditch World Cup was almost like a yearly death sentence for her, without the actual 'death' part. (Narcissa wanted to point out that she wasn't opposed to being executed, as long as it spared her from yet another year of attending the Quidditch World Cup.) She probably hadn't made a very good impression on the Boy Who Lived, as she had been fuming over several devious schemes to submit her family to for forcing her to attend something she would rather die to miss.

"That doesn't count," Narcissa pointed out firmly, watching as the boy stood a little straighter with surprise. "I hate Quidditch."

Potter tilted his head to the side in absolute bafflement several seconds after it became clear that Narcissa wasn't going to embellish any further than how much she loathed the most popular sport known to wizardkind. "Okay?..."

Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Mum doesn't meet," he lifted his hands in the air, forming aerial quotation marks around the word, "people at the Quidditch World Cup. She's there under protest and doesn't see the point in pretending she's enjoying herself. You're actually lucky she acknowledged the one time you saw her in the first place. She once got into a scathing row with the Bulgarian Minister's wife when the woman tried to speak to her without introducing herself first."

"It was rude and tacky and I hope that bint's eyebrows grew back crooked, if they ever grew back at all," Narcissa said spitefully.

"Oooh, foxy," Duo said gleefully, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You know what, Mrs. Black? You are the answer to all my prayers. I've been saying all along that there needs to be some sort of strong-willed female figure in this house full of rowdy, stubborn guys, and look! You're here!" He cried, lifting his hands and spreading them, palms up, to indicate her presence. With a devilish wink, he added slyly, "And, might I add, you're looking fabulously beautiful right now? Absolutely stunning."

Oh, she liked this one.

She also knew damn well who he was. Duo Maxwell, after all, held an uncanny resemblance to Angelica Proud, a woman Narcissa had been overwhelmingly pleased to call her best friend and close confidant. Angelica had been the only pureblooded woman who had ever earned Narcissa's respect. She always stood with her shoulders back and her head held high, her challenging amethyst eyes daring anyone to underestimate her intelligence. When she spoke, her voice was soft and melodious but could be heard above the roar of a crowded room. Likewise, many would stop whatever they were doing and fall silent to hear exactly what the young woman had to say. Angelica Proud was no fool, and her very presence forced everyone to realize that.

Then she met Tom Riddle...

"Aren't you the charming young man?" Narcissa crooned fondly, reaching out to touch the boy's cheek. Maxwell almost seemed wary for a brief moment, but he immediately banished the emotion away with a happy grin as she placed her warm palm along the side of his face. "Forgive me, but how old are you again?"

"Mother!" Draco snapped incredulously.

"I'm seventeen," Maxwell replied with a sexy wink. "But I subscribe to the theory that age is just a number."

"Duo!" her son shrieked indignantly.

Narcissa almost lost it; she was lucky only the corner of her mouth twitched. She hadn't heard such a high-pitch screech emit from her son's vocal chords for quite some time. She'd forgotten how much she adored her son being beside himself with repulsion and outrage.

"Isn't it marvelous that I happen to believe in the very same theory, darling? It must be destiny," Narcissa went on, purposefully announcing her intentions to molest the long-haired teenage sex god in the pitch of her voice; low, sultry, and filled with insincere lust.

Duo was poised to continue the baiting game, and Narcissa was positive whatever reply he had would have been flawlessly delivered. However, there had been a barely audible grunt from the doorway that didn't sound anything like Draco or the Potter boy. Duo immediately turned his head, his eyes widening marginally as the sultry smirk on his face transformed into a pleased smile.

"Hee-chan!"

Interesting.

Narcissa turned to the doorway, finally paying attention to her other visitors. Draco had stepped further in the room and closer to her bed, clearly intent on yelling at his mother and his friend at a closer range. _Probably annoyed that we ignored him in the first place_, Narcissa thought in amusement. Potter had also ventured a little further in the room, staying close to Draco's side, probably so he could be in a better position to stop the raging blond if the little brat actually lunged at the long-haired American.

However, there was a new boy standing on the threshold, cooly leaning against the doorframe with his arms and legs crossed while his messy hair obscured the upper portion of his face. Narcissa noticed that the boy had a very kissable mouth, and she wondered if that would be a trait all of her son's house mates shared. The hunky youth in the turtleneck and the beautiful fey in the purple vest had certainly been pleasurable eye-candy during her surprisingly short and almost painless labor.

"Hail to the spirits, you're here," Draco said reverently. "Make them stop having sex with each other!"

"Draco," Potter hissed, appearing a little worried that Draco was making such an allegation in front of the unmoving boy in the doorway. "You're overreacting. They're hardly in the position to have sex. She just had a baby, for God's sake!"

"Watching them flirt is disgusting and wrong," Draco insisted roughly, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Hee-chan, look! A woman!" Duo cried like an exuberant child, waving his hand in the air again. Apparently the long-haired boy was content in ignoring whatever Draco had to say. "A beautiful woman! With a _baby_! Do you have any idea what this means?"

The boy snorted. "Wufei will be pleased."

"Exactly!" And then Duo threw his head back and cackled wickedly.

_**END CHAPTER SEVEN**_

* * *

**(1) Word to the wise: Don't EVER call someone of Asian ancestry "Oriental." I know it's not easy for the untrained eye to correctly assume someone's race -Korean, Japanese, Chinese, whatever- but it's best to stick with Asian until you can find a polite way to ask. (I use their language as a vague point of reference, but I have a good ear for accents and different languages all together.) Referring to Asians as a bloody flavor of ramen won't win you a friend, especially if they care so much about their heritage. Fudge does it in this scene because he doesn't know any better.**

**(2) I'm giving Bones a lot more power than she obviously has. To be fair, I think of Fudge as an incompetent ninny who would probably need stern prompting from Bones to behave; thus, her behavior.**

**(3) Eat your collective hearts out, cast of Law & Order. (God,** **I'm such a crime show nerd...) I know everything in the court scene is almost mainly dialogue, but seriously; who actually wanted me to embellish on that? The chapter runs long enough as it is!**

**(4) God, I just love Narcissa bloody Black. :sighs happily: Girl power. :snickers:**


	8. Preparing for School

**Author's Notes: I'm so glad Narcissa isn't going to become a key character. The woman steals the spotlight -I just can't get her to shut up. :**_**makes a face**_

**Well, my computer died. I had to rewrite this chapter, which should explain why it's taken me so long to update. :**_**sheepish grin**_**: If it makes any of you feel any better about the unfortunate wait, the original chapter was really crappy. I like this version **_**much**_** better than the dead one.**

**(On the downside, still a little irritated that everything in HPatFH I had written in advance went up in smokes. I had a really good lead in-scene to the plot set out and everything. :**_**pouts**_

**Anyway, thanks for being patient with me. Thanks to all my reviewers, and I'd also like to thank the several people who sent me really extensive feedback. Things like that inspire a lot of mojo for the author. Teheh. :**_**silly grin**_

**Second Note: Um... :**_**is sheepish**_**: Several chapters ago, my good pal Jojo (FranceGamble) helped me correct some conflicts in the letter Heero wrote Dumbledore. And I'm a horrible, horrible girl for forgetting not once, but multiple times, to accredit her with that. :**_**sob**_**: Sorry, Jojo!**

**... Onward?**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Eight**_

* * *

The morning after the trial came a lot earlier than the residences of Black Manor originally intended. In fact, the sun had yet to rise when the Floo alarm sounded off, followed immediately by a cacophony of loud, boisterous barking and several hapless pieces of furniture falling pray to a large, overenthusiastic dog doing victory laps in the living room. 

Draco's groan of frustration could be heard throughout the second floor of the manor. From his crouched, tense position in the hallway, Heero rolled his eyes and motioned the others to put away their weapons as he took a moment to switch the safety on his own firearm before holstering it in the waistband of his pajamas.

Draco and Harry soon joined them on the landing, all seven boys watching the Grim-like dog hit the marble floor of the foyer at a dead run, skidding passed the base of the stairs in an uncontrollable tailspin. Undaunted, the dog swiftly corrected himself before bounding up the winding staircase in a proud strut, a newspaper trapped between the animal's large teeth.

Padfoot, commonly known as Snuffles, happily dropped the paper and transformed. Grinning wildly, Sirius Black swooped down and grabbed the paper, unfurling its pages and proudly displaying the front page. There, in bold black and white, was the official declaration of Sirius Black's innocence. Included with the headline were no less than three exclamation marks.

"You boys are looking at a free man," Sirius said boastfully, preening. "Read it and weep!"

"Not a bad option," Draco muttered sourly, giving the Daily Prophet a shrewd inspection. "... The ink is smeared on that paper."

"I hadn't noticed," Sirius said innocently.

"I bet you didn't," Draco retorted darkly, crossing his arms and giving his cousin an evil glare. "It's five in the morning. That paper is fresh off the presses."

"Your point?"

Obviously, the man needed it spelled out for him. "Your visit couldn't have waited until a decent hour?"

Sirius, smirking lazily, replied, "In some time zones, this _is_ a decent hour."

"Not. This. One," the blond responded haltingly through gritted teeth.

To which Sirius shrugged nonchalantly and responded airily, "Hey, it's not my fault you live in a crappy time zone."

Draco stared at him in silence for a moment before saying monotonously, "Your logical reasoning skills need work."

"Aw, you sound like Moony," Sirius said before abruptly brushing the boy off with a fond smile directed at his grinning godson. "I just wanted to spend my first morning as a free man with my godson. And what kind of ungrateful burk would I be if I didn't come to thank my defenders personally?"

"The sleeping kind? Ow! Harry!" Scandalized, the former Malfoy heir rubbed his upper arm petulantly, sending his boyfriend an indignant glare. "Did you just hit me?"

"Don't spoil his mood, Draco," Harry said, still grinning in a rather star-struck manner. Apparently, the green-eyed Gryffindor was just as happy to see the front page of the Daily Prophet as his excitable godfather was.

"Et tu, Brute?" the blond grumbled sullenly. "You just wanted an excuse to hit me."

"Did not," Harry parried calmly.

"Pfft!" was the sound of Draco's measure of credibility in Harry's self-defense tactic.

Sirius, eyebrows raised in faint amusement, turned to give the snickering American Gryffindor a knowing grin. "That happen a lot with these two?"

"Honestly? I can't believe Harry's a Fire sign," Duo replied dryly; his comment was obviously inspired by his recent research on his report of the Zodiac for his Astronomy summer work. "A Leo, even. Boggles the mind. Must be the influence of his ascending sign."

"Yes," Wufei responded flatly, translating early-morning Duobabble effortlessly. "It happens often."

"Which is good for the bratling," cam a new, femininely cynical voice that made the tiny hairs on the back of Sirius Black's neck stand straight on end. Draco dropped his head in defeat, a pained wince cracking his "Malfoy" face.

Narcissa Black, bundled baby in arms, had apparently made herself comfortable outside of Sirius and Draco's sphere of awareness. She certainly hadn't escaped the renegade soldiers' attentions, and Harry had been in the position to see the woman arrive. With only a short pause for effect, she added slyly, "No other person could put up with him on such an intimate level, no matter how good he is in the sack."

Harry appeared as if he wanted to drop dead, if only long enough to regain some of his dignity. Draco, a little more vocal about his humiliation, puled an indignant, "Mo_ther_..."

"Don't be a crybaby about it, darling," Narcissa said offhandedly. "First rule of life: truth hurts."

"Second rule of life," Sirius mimicked, "life's not fair. Bloody hell, you haven't changed a bit, Cissy."

Narcissa visibly twitched at the nickname. It was a dangerous sort of twitch; one that implied that the only thing holding her back from conjuring a Beater's bat and proceeding to wail on Sirius was the fragile human being in her arms, and she was _really_ starting to regret bringing the kid with her.

She recovered admirably when she addressed her next statement to her son. "Draco, darling, I know you've always wanted a dog... but did you honestly have to have the mangy, flea-infested cur?"

Sirius flinched. He'd been secretly hoping that Narcissa hadn't seen his Animagus form, though he'd known it was a pointless wish. Even if she hadn't seen Padfoot, she certainly would have reason to suspect something of that nature after the ruckus he'd made when he launched through the Floo.

To be fair, Sirius had not expected his cousin to be there.

"He gets bonus points for fetching the paper," Narcissa said slyly, triumphant that she was winning the battle. "Does he bring you your slippers, too?"

"You're such a bitch, Cissa," Sirius said wearily, admitting defeat... for this round.

"Explains your animal form. Must run in the family." Narcissa was relentless in her pursuit of absolute victory.

Speaking of family... Sirius narrowed his eyes on the bundle of soft blankets in her arms, just barely able to see tiny little knuckles extend from the bundle. "Oh, spirits, you spawned again."

"Sirius!" Harry said in admonishment, pointedly looking at Draco, who appeared highly offended by Sirius' verb choice. Apparently Harry wasn't too keen on hearing his boyfriend rant indignantly about being referred to as "spawn."

Sirius, indulging his godson, said obligingly, "No offense, Draco."

"Kneel, boy," Narcissa murmured in amusement. "Good doggy."

The situation probably would have gone down hill from there had it not been for the sound of the Floo alarm. Heero just managed to restrain himself from drawing his gun; his soldier paranoia, however, demanded that he at least draw his wand.

Sirius grinned sheepishly. "Moony's here."

"He didn't come with you?" Harry asked, giving his boyfriend a reproving glance when Draco made a sour face. Unbeknownst to the Gryffindor, Draco had noticed his mother's face light up in obvious glee.

"Nah, he said he'd be here in ten minutes. He was nattering about avoiding the crossfire," Sirius replied, waving off his friend's obviously superior survival instincts. "Whatever that means."

Moments later, Remus Lupin peered cautiously around the corner of the entrance to the living room, his amber eyes immediately seeking out the congregation at the top of the stairs. "Oh, thank the Fates. A mediwizard doesn't have to be called," he said heavily, evidently relieved about the lack of bloodshed.

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but he was shoved out of the way by an overeager woman who then squealed and waved down at the former DADA professor. "Remy-luv!" she said sweetly, sounding sincerely pleased to see the werewolf. "It's been so long! You simply must stay for breakfast -I won't take no for an answer!"

Harry blinked. Draco, taking pity on his clueless boyfriend, muttered bitterly, "Lupin was Mum's schoolgirl crush. She used to ramble for _hours_ about how absolutely amazing and perfect he is. It drove me and Da–Lucius insane."

Well... Harry certainly hadn't expected that.

Remus, in fact, seemed genuinely pleased by Narcissa's unexpected presence, and he easily accepted her invitation to breakfast. With a sly, cutting remark on how animals usually ate their table scraps outside, "but for you, dear cousin, I'll make an exception," she herded the group out onto the patio. The weather was pleasantly cool and muggy; perhaps not the best conditions for a newborn, but the woman cast several warming charms over her infant son and the bassinet she had a house elf bring down before she laid the napping baby safely in a nest of blankets.

"Such a gorgeous view of the sunrise from here, don't you think, Remy-luv?"

"View's better from the East Tower," Draco murmured, spreading a layer of cream cheese on his toasted bagel.

"Nobody asked you," Narcissa said, a hint of bite lingering under her falsely sweet tone. Draco smirked smugly, remaining silent as he took a healthy bite out of his bagel.

Remus smiled in amusement. "You are exactly the parent I expected you to be, Cissa. This one, though," he added, glancing at the baby at her side fondly, "is a new development."

"Oh, this one?" Narcissa said, laughing pleasantly. "He arrived yesterday afternoon. Trowa-darling helped deliver him."

"Me and Quatre stood uselessly on the sidelines offering as much encouragement as we could," Duo said sheepishly, grinning at Narcissa apologetically. "Then we got yelled at for making a woman laugh while in the throes of labor."

"Say what you will," Narcissa said haughtily, "no pregnant woman expects to hear all the gory details of the birthing process delivered via the point of view of two teenaged boys. It was either laugh at the absurdity of it or throttle the both of you with my umbilical cord."

Harry cringed. Graphic...

"You seem to be recovering from child-baring remarkably well," Remus noted sincerely. "Then again, you've always been a very driven woman, Cissa."

Narcissa preened. It was obvious then why the woman held so much affection for her schoolgirl crush; anyone that would willingly stroke her ego would certain hold a very high status in her books.

"You always encourage her," Sirius muttered sullenly.

Without missing a beat, the woman drawled mockingly, "Fetch the sausage, puppy!" She threw a link of sausage off of the patio, cooing, "Go get it, boy!"

Remus snorted wryly before responding sagely, "The same could be said for you, Padfoot."

"His problem is that he has to have the last word," Narcissa said cattily, smirking, "which is very common for losers like him."

"I don't know if you've noticed, cousin-dear, but you have that very same problem," Sirius pointed out bitingly, a hint of growl under his tone.

"Perhaps," his cousin conceded serenely, smiling as she demurely sipped from her tea cup before adding, "but I'm not a loser like you."

"See?" Sirius barked. "Case proven!"

"Same to you, dog boy," Narcissa parried smoothly.

"Neither one of you knows how to shut up," Wufei said crabbily, aggravated that he had to put up with childish bickering before his second cup of coffee.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes shrewdly at the Chinese youth. "Which one are you again?"

Wufei, bristling warily, responded tightly, "Chang Wufei."

"Ah. Chang Wufei," the woman repeated with a regal nod of her head. "You're on my list."

And, for a single moment, Wufei felt as if his fate had been tightly sealed by those four simple words. If he were to ask Draco, the blond would have told him that he should have been a lot more worried about anything his mother could do to people who were unfortunate enough to make it on her list. As it stood, the former Malfoy heir was seasoned enough to bow his head and remain silent. His mother would include _him_ in exacting vengeance if he spoiled her element of surprise.

Duo smirked wickedly. "You're so screwed, Wuffie."

"Go easy on him," Sirius said with a sympathetic glance. "He made me a free man."

Narcissa was merciless. "He must learn," she responded gravely.

Wufei almost -almost!- broke into a nervous sweat, immediately finding that his appetite had long deserted him. _Christ_...

Duo, a little sympathetic to Wufei's plight, did a bait and switch as he brightly gushed, "So Ms. Black, what do you think of the garden? Tro and Quat are doing a good job, doncha think?"

"I completely agree with the removal of the daffodils," Narcissa said passionately. "Those flowers were atrocious."

"A bit too strong for a garden made up of lilies, forget-me-nots, yellow and white roses, and bluebells," Quatre agreed calmly behind the rim of his tea cup.

"Carnations are a nice replacement," the woman said thoughtfully. "I like carnations. They've always made Lucy so intolerable though. He's allergic."

"I'm surprised that stopped you," Sirius said snidely.

"It didn't," her son replied flatly, remembering just how miserable his father would be when carnations were in season. His mother would decorate the entire manor, top to bottom, with carnations -floral arrangements were covertly put on ever table in ever hallway and room. Lucius would be utterly miserable until Narcissa thought her husband had been punished enough; and she _always_ found a reason to bring in carnations when they were in season. _Always_.

"We do have an alternative reason for coming here," Remus admitted, pulling out a stack of thick envelopes from the inside of his robes. "Sirius wanted to deliver your Hogwarts letters personally. We couldn't guarantee he wouldn't tamper with the contents, though, so I decided it would be best if I did the actual delivering."

Judging by Sirius' disappointed sigh, chances were that he _had_ been planning something nefarious that required several minutes alone with the letters, and his more responsible friend was spoiling everything for him -as usual.

The letters were passed around; Duo wasn't the only one who noticed that most of the envelopes contained something quite a bit thicker than a few sheets of parchment. Meanwhile, his and Trowa's seemed quite a bit less weighty. He realized the significance of it when Harry, a suspicious glint in his eyes, upended his envelope. A shiny golden badge with a P on it fell into his palm. "Oh, God, they made me prefect," Harry murmured faintly, sounding almost... ill.

"This could be to our advantage," Quatre mused, inspecting his own shiny badge. Heero made a noncommital noise before placing his badge on the table. He turned his attention to his OWL scores, nodding in silent approval when he saw a straight row of Os. Wufei, not even sparing a glance for his badge, was likewise pleased with his OWL results.

Draco, contrary to his boyfriend's displeasure, crowed triumphantly as he boasted a badge that was slightly different than the others. "I made Head Boy!"

Narcissa smirked lewdly, praising her son with thinly veiled amusement by saying casually, "I have such a talented son."

Draco refused to acknowledge his mother's lecherous nature in favor of grinning at his Head Boy badge in pride. Nothing his mother could say could possibly spoil his moment. _Nothing_.

Narcissa, not to be outdone, added sweetly, "Who would know better than Harry. Right, Harry-darling?"

... Except maybe that. "Mother, please. He blushes easily."

"He's so cute when he blushes," Narcissa mused laughingly, grinning at the blushing Boy Who Lived. "He reminds me of a puppy -you know, darling, of the more attractive breeds?" She directed a catty smirk at Sirius. "The kind you can't scold, even if he did piddle on our expensive Persian rug."

"Okay?..." The Gryffindor murmured uncertainly, not quite sure how he should take the puppy comparison. Draco patted his boyfriend's knee under the table, silently assuring Harry that this was a good thing. Harry would be spared from Narcissa's scorn because she thought he was adorable enough to get away with almost everything, as long as he allowed her to make raunchy observations about her son's sex life -without _much_ protest. She obviously enjoyed making the Boy Who Lived squirm as a bonus.

"Let's go to Diagon Alley today," Sirius said giddily, his dark eyes lit with an unholy gleam. "After breakfast."

"Best idea I've heard all morning," Draco agreed vehemently. "I need to get out of this house before I get cranky."

"God forbid," the American muttered sardonically, "he get any crankier than usual."

Harry, however, wasn't so enthused about the idea. "It's just that Hermione, Ron, and I had made plans to meet in Diagon Alley next week. It's a tradition with us."

"You're going to make me endure a day with Granger and the Weasel?" Draco cried, aghast. "Harry, that's such a bloody terrible idea! I mean, there are so many buttons to push with Weasley, and they're all too tempting to resist..."

"Well, I'm not changing my plans with Mione and Ron," Harry said evenly. Narcissa tilted her head to the side, giving the green-eyed boy a thorough once-over. When she noted the Boy Who Lived's unyielding posture and point-blank honesty, she nodded curtly in satisfaction. No matter how adorable she found him, no son of hers was going to have a pushover for a lover. The bratling needed someone to challenge him on matters of importance.

Narcissa smirked faintly when the perfect solution came to her. "Here's an idea," she said casually, leaning down to pick up her hungry son, awake from his short nap. She had a house elf bring her a bottle before she continued, "Why don't you just tag along while Draco buys his school things, Harry-luv? You can also spend time with the mutt, as long as his keeper keeps a close eye on him." She flickered a meaningful glance toward Remus, who smiled slightly and nodded in affirmation.

"I resent the implication that I need a keeper," Sirius protested gravely.

"Doesn't make it any less true, Padfoot," Remus murmured teasingly.

"It would be wise for at least one or two of us to take care of school shopping today," Quatre said thoughtfully. "That way, someone can stay behind to take care of the fort while the rest of us take care of our needs next week."

As one, Wufei's comrade's turned hopeful, expectant looks toward him. Of course, it would make sense if the two couples could at least pretend the necessary outing was something like a date. Wufei, being the only one not attached at the hip, was the logical choice.

He sighed mentally, praying silently to Nataku for the strength and resolve to put up with Sirius Black for most of the day; he also tacked on a request for divine forgiveness for inflicting the man in question on the general public.

"I'll go," Wufei agreed, much to the relief of the others.

Wufei did not, however, have the same opportunity as Draco did when he happened to catch a glimpse of the triumphant gleam in his mother's icy blue eyes. In any case, he decided to make himself scarce next week anyway; perhaps even make plans with Blaise and Pansy. He certainly didn't want to stick around and witness the result of his mother's ire.

When breakfast was over and pajamas were exchanged for more appropriate clothing, the group of five Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron, leaving the four ex-terrorists to bare witness to Narcissa's pleased smile and saucily murmured, "That went better than expected..." Then she flounced back to her suite with a skip to her step, clearly and precisely informing her infant son that he would be her evil minion, and he was going to be damn happy with the purpose she'd found for him.

The four pilots remained in the living room, silent.

"Poor Wufei," Quatre finally murmured with the upmost sincerity.

"This is beyond cosmic cruelty," Duo agreed. "I'd be more inclined to feel sorry for him if I didn't find it so funny."

"And, according to Wufei's honor code, he deserves whatever is coming to him," Trowa pointed out logically. "He did insult our hostess, after all."

"We should all be careful not to make the same mistake," Heero said monotonously, appearing a little uneasy. "There's something about that woman that makes the Perfect Soldier... a little wary."

"She sets my teeth on edge," Quatre said with absolute honesty.

"I kind of like her," Duo said brightly, adding casually, "Then again, Shinigami gets really twitchy under the surface when I'm alone with her."

"She's definitely one that fights for dominance," Trowa said. "And this is her territory. It's only fair to allow her a reasonable amount of authority."

They were decided. Narcissa Black was not a woman to cross, and Wufei was about to find out exactly why that was so.

----------

Exactly one week later, Diagon Alley was experiencing a pleasantly slow business day. Whatever customers the store owners did encounter came in large, organized groups, usually in accompaniment of at least one Auror that happened to be a friend of the family, or, in some cases, families. It was almost one of many helpful suggestions from the Order of the Phoenix that made it into a Ministry-approved pamphlet that was delivered throughout wizarding Britain.

Accepting the advice of the legendary Order was actually a brilliant move on the part of the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. The Order had been aware of the return of the Dark Lord for quite some time, after all; the organization had plenty of time to prepare for the moment the public became aware of the truth. Wizards and witches everywhere seemed to feel a little safer, seeing as their Ministry actually seemed to function appropriately for once.

It was strictly encouraged that muggleborns leave their muggle families home while the pamphlet suggested alternatives, such as tagging along with a friend or house mate's family and Auror accompaniment. Hermione Granger didn't mind that one bit; the last thing she wanted to do was make her parents an irresistible target for a Death Eater attack. Though the Dark Lord and his followers had yet to return to their old tricks, they were infamous during Voldemort's first attempted coupe for attacking wizarding London when they knew muggles were going to be around.

Hermione, along with four members of the Weasley Family and Auror Tonks, were sitting around two tables that were close enough together to keep a steady stream of casual conversation going between Hermione, Ron, and Ginny (sitting as a group at one table) and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Tonks (the last of whom was sporting a glowing orange, short-cropped hairstyle and dark brown eyes). Hermione suspected the seating arrangement was positioned in such a way so that Molly Weasley could easily scold her son every time he brought up the subject of visiting Weasley Wizard Wheezes after they were finished shopping for, as Ron put it, "junk for school."

"Why is she yelling at me again?" Ron hissed to his sister, obviously baffled.

"I don't know, Ron," Ginny said calmly, rolling her eyes in exasperation when her brother wasn't looking at her. "Have you tried not bringing up the twins' shop every ten minutes? I bet if you do, you'll see a marked improvement in Mum's temperament."

"Why does she yell at me when she's mad at the twins?"

Ron was such a... a man, sometimes. Not in a negative way, though; he just didn't know how to look at a situation from a woman's point of view. Ron thought his mother was yelling at him because of something the twins had done to make her angry. The real reason was because Molly was secretly afraid that the twins would influence her youngest son into dropping out of school, and to a woman like Molly, education was everything.

"Just try it," Ginny said encouragingly. "You'll be surprised with how well it'll work."

The Leaky Cauldron's Floo came to life with a dancing green flame only moments before a family figure came tumbling out with a flawless tuck-roll-backwards hand-stand move that had him on his feet at a safe distance away from the fireplace before the familiar Menace of Gryffindor came skidding out of the network on his heels, right in the middle of a cry that had most likely been, "BONZAI!"

"That never gets old," Duo Maxwell said cheekily, grinning at the ever-reserved Trowa Barton just as the next to arrive through the network calmly stepped out and to the side, absently brushing a non-existent speck of ash on his (no doubt expensive) burgundy shirt.

Hermione didn't miss Ron's flinch of irritation, nor did she blame him. Even though he'd stopped calling her a mudblood whenever he felt like it, Draco Black's scathing sarcasm and slyly worded insults still inspired an urge to slap him on occasion.

"Looks like Harry disagrees," Trowa said mildly after Harry came stumbling from the Floo, coughing around a thick cloud of smokey ash that followed him from the grate.

Black rolled his eyes before tugging his boyfriend to prevent injury when the next person came out of the network. He quickly cast a cleaning charm that scrubbed the ash from Harry's skin and clothes. "You really need to learn how to apparate, Harry."

Harry shrugged it off. "I'll get around to it. The Floo Network just hates me." Her friend paused. "Portkeys really don't agree with me, either. Or the Knight Bus. Let's face it, the only form of travel I'm good at is flying, and even that's limited to broomsticks. I'll probably splinch myself trying to apparate."

"Oh, poor baby leads such a hard life," Black teased.

Harry didn't even bat an eyelid when he parried, "Says the Slytherin who claims his mother is out to ruin his life."

"I _am_ out to ruin his life," a new woman with perfect blonde ringlets and sly, icy blue eyes murmured smugly. Hermione hadn't even noticed the woman's silent arrival, followed by Heero Yuy and Quatre Winner. Her one and only meeting of Narcissa hadn't been very memorable, but Hermione had no trouble putting a name with the face.

"Hah!" Black said triumphantly. "See? My bitching is justified."

Bill Weasley appeared just as surprised by Narcissa's presence as his mother and Tonks, if only for a different reason. "Cissa?..."

Narcissa Black's eyes met Bill's with instant recognition before a pleased smile bloomed on her painted lips. "William! Well, this is a surprise. I haven't seen you since I left Egypt."

"William?" Ron muttered softly, giving his oldest brother a suspicious glance.

"Do I want to know what you were doing in Egypt?" Black asked his mother sullenly, sounding as if he expected the worst.

Narcissa made a genuine effort to remember the event in question. "I remember... camels. Sand. Something to do with some old ruins..."

Upon receiving a scandalized glare from his mother, Bill explained hurriedly, "I found her exploring the Forbidden Ruins on the new moon, apparently looking for the same thing I was. And then she ran off with the artifact while I was busy dangling from the edge of a pit of vipers." He added the last bit with a stern frown towards the regal woman, who didn't appear the list bit reproached about what she had done.

"Finders keepers," she replied simply, smirking.

"Shouldn't count in this case, as I was under the impression that I'd have some stakes in the Eye of Ra if I helped you break all of those tricky ancient curses," Bill said boldly, toe-to-toe with Narcissa.

"You missed one," Narcissa pointed out silkily.

"Those vipers weren't woven into the spells," Bill said stubbornly, chin lifting in challenge. "I didn't miss anything."

The woman smiled in cow amusement. "That's what I like about you, William. You always stand your ground."

"I still want my chance to study that artifact, Cissa." Apparently, Bill wasn't going to be led into a false sense of security... again.

Narcissa chuckled huskily. "Tell you what, William. You escort me to Vertic Alley while these brats run off to do their business, and we'll... talk about it."

"Fine," Bill said firmly, politely offering the woman the crook of his elbow.

"Oh, for the sake of the spirits," Black mumbled darkly. "Weasley, I am _not_ responsible for whatever state your brother comes back in when my mother unlatches her claws."

"Shut up, you horrible little snot," Narcissa said evenly, not even sparing her son a glance when she slipped her hand through the crook of Bill's extended elbow.

"Er... Bill?" Tonks said hesitantly, pointedly motioning her head toward Molly Weasley. The Weasley matron was giving her son a hard, sobering stare.

"It's a really important artifact, Mum," Bill said defensively.

Molly snorted derisively. "Somehow I doubt that, Bill."

Narcissa smiled coyly, "Why, William, I had no idea Mama Weasley is your mother! Then again, I shouldn't be too surprised -only Molly Weasley would raise such a strapping, strong-willed boy."

Oddly enough, Molly's face relaxed into a rueful smile as she shook her head in a motherly fashion. "One of these days, Narcissa Black, that draw-flies-with-honey act is going to fail."

"Hasn't yet," Narcissa replied impishly, tugging Bill toward the hidden entrance to Diagon Alley. "Ta, Mama Weasley."

"You really think Bill will be all right with her?" Tonks muttered shrewdly, watching the two of them leave with wary eyes.

"Narcissa will bring him back alive," Molly assured the young Auror warmly. "He'll, of course, have learned his lesson by then. That woman is never that complimentary unless she really wants something, mark my words."

"You two _know_ each other?" Ron blurted out, gawking at his mother.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Ron," Duo said jovially, clapping the redhead on the back heartily, "but everyone knows Narcissa Black, and she knows everyone just as well. I'm pretty sure she has blackmail material on ex-Minister Fudge, but I haven't gotten it out of her yet."

"And you won't, unless he suddenly decides that paying her to keep her silence really _isn't_ like having an employee who does absolutely nothing," Black said flatly.

Trowa hummed in agreement, going further to add, "She's Narcissa. She wouldn't be Narcissa if we knew what she is planning."

"You mean scheming," Heero corrected blandly, his fingers absently trailing down the back of Duo's braid.

"She happens to be quite good at that," Quatre said ruefully, a linger trace of admiration in his voice.

Hermione blinked, finally realizing that the group was missing one of its members. "Where's Wufei?"

The four colony-born students fell silent. Black pointedly became enamored with an amateur painting hanging above the fireplace mantle while Harry covered his amusement with a soft, forced cough.

"He's at home," Quatre replied slowly, a certain note of sympathy in his tone.

Hermione was instantly put on guard. "Something didn't happen, did it? He's not hurt?"

"He's fine," Trowa promised.

"Just learning his lesson," Heero murmured, obviously a little amused.

"Lesson?..." Ron prompted.

Duo snickered wickedly. "Yeah. He's learning why it's a really bad idea to end up on Narcissa's naughty list."

----------

Babies, Wufei realized absently, were not cute. This was especially so for newborns, who all seemed to have something of a reptilian-slash-baby bird-esque quality to them. The one that was staring at him curiously from the safety of his bassinet held an uncanny resemblance to Yoda.

Babies. What the hell was he supposed to do with a _baby_?

"Babies," Narcissa had announced smugly from her seated position on the bed, keeping a close eye on Wufei as he had his first hands' on lesson in changing diapers, "only require three things. Sleep, food, and the occasional fresh nappy. Even a novice like you should be able to handle that for a few hours, Wufei-darling."

He really hated that woman. Gods, did he hate her. He couldn't describe the sense of overwhelming panic that overcame him when the woman announced, pretty as she pleased, that she was going out of a shopping trip the same time everyone else was scheduled to buy their school supplies, leaving Wufei the only one truly able to babysit for her. Draco, the coward, had made plans to visit Diagon Alley in the company of his friends.

The baby's face twisted into a grimace of displeasure. Wufei gulped, looking around the room frantically for some divine sign that would give him a better clue as to what to do before the little beast started squalling.

He understood that some form of penance was necessary; he _had_ been out of line with his hostess, though he'd been more irritated with Sirius Black than the man's wily cousin.

He still hated that woman.

Babysitting! Him!

Evil.

There was just no other word for it.

----------

Heero was a little amazed that the day went by relatively well, considering the worst case scenario. The lack of pedestrians wandering the streets couldn't provide cover for any potential attackers; likewise, nothing suspicious triggered any of his soldier responses.

The only downside to escorting Draco and his two Slytherin friends to Vertic Alley(1) ("the snobby sister of Diagon," Duo had dubbed it) was his inevitable role as the elitist shopaholics' personal dress-up doll, courtesy Duo Maxwell's meddling. Aside from walking away from the incident with several new outfits that he hadn't intended on getting, he'd survived the invasion of his space relatively unscathed.

Pansy, Blaise, and Draco were not so lucky.

"Yuy's scary when he's fed up," Blaise whispered timidly, the three Slytherins huddled in a group that lagged behind their tense Japanese house mate at a safe distance.

"It was probably Draco's story about his newfound kink that set him off," Pansy snickered lowly, earning an irritated look from Draco. Honestly, the girl had practically pried the story in question from him after the former Malfoy heir made an offhand comment about Duo not being a dancer. The event leading up to the point where he found out this interesting bit of information was when he walked in on his mother teaching Duo a gypsy dance.

Duo happened to be dressed in a wispy white skirt and a rather high-cut, constricting violet top at the time. According to the American, Narcissa tricked him into it.

When Duo had realized he'd been caught in a skirt (again), he pointed to Narcissa in horror and called her, "The Black Widow of Manipulation!" The woman's only comeback that she wasn't quite a widow, but she had the opportunity to inherit that status several times throughout her marriage to Lucius.

And then Heero had snapped out of whatever temporary shut down his mind had underwent before mechanically gliding forward, tossing his boyfriend over his shoulder and swiftly locking themselves away in a bedroom for three and a half hours with a pointed caution that they weren't to be disturbed for as long as the door was locked.

Afterwards, Duo hadn't seemed to mind one bit that Narcissa had conned him into a skirt. Again.

"Huh," Duo said brightly, spying the gaudy shop boasting the Weasley name further down the street. "Looks like we're here a little late."

"Hah! Like Heero wants to go in there," Draco muttered dryly. "All that popping and flashing and things that move.

Duo grinned mischievously. "His nerves are going to be shot to hell."

Heero, yards ahead of the lingering group of Slytherins plus one Gryffindor, stopped in front of the left-hand window display, one eyebrow lifted in amusement as he scanned the sign there. With a snort of wry amusement, the Japanese Slytherin calmly entered the establishment with some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

Draco could see why the moment the sign became visible to him.

**WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT  
****YOU-KNOW-WHO?  
****YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT  
****U-NO-POO –  
****THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION  
****THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!**

Duo choked on the laughter that suddenly bubbled up in his throat, his eyes watering with the effort not to lose it completely. "Colorful," he wheezed weakly.

"It's scandalous," Pansy said, awestruck. "It's a wonder they're getting away with it."

"It calmed Yuy down. Personally, I'm pretty happy about it," Blaise admitted.

When the group finally entered the store, they were treated with boisterous laughter from the Weasley twins, who both appeared to have just been introduced to Heero by Harry. "Maxwell's boyfriend?" one twin said, obviously find this amusing.

"The kid with the braid? We remember him mentioning you," said the other, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Harry, why don't you go take him to see what's in the back? I'll bet he'll like those as much as you did. He can even have a discount."

"Nice to know you're treating my Hee-chan with respect," Duo said whimsically, sweeping forward into the shop as his eyes landed on a display that proudly held a sign that read EDIBLE DARK MARKS - THEY'LL MAKE ANYONE SICK! "Okay, I want a bag of these and one of whatever you have in the back. I don't care what it is."

Quatre grinned sheepishly, several large bags with the Weasley Wizard Wheezes logo printed on them resting at his feet. "I think we've almost cleaned the back out already..."

"Along with some of the more lighthearted merchandise," Trowa murmured, reading the ingredients label of a confection called a Canary Cream.

Any further debate about the merchandise was quickly forgotten when Harry, eyes cast to the front of the store just in time to see Narcissa sweep in with a nervous, twitchy Bill in tow. Bill looked as if he'd abruptly met the business end of a thestral-drawn carriage.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked incredulously, giving the oldest Weasley son a cautious glance.

Bill flinched violently. "I don't want to talk about it."

Narcissa smiled serenely.

Molly turned to Tonks smugly. "See? I told you Narcissa would bring him back alive."

"Of course, Mama Weasley," Narcissa said offhandedly, sweeping forward to glance over several items of curiosity. "I know you're perfectly capable of breaking my legs for hurting one of your young _too_ badly. And he's a lovely lad, really -such an upstanding boy. You've done a very good job in raising him, Mama Weasley."

Bill's eyelid twitched. "I hate you, Cissa."

Duo's Black Widow of Manipulation smirked.

_**END CHAPTER EIGHT**_

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**(1) Vertic Alley, Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley -get where I'm going here? Vertically, diagonally, nocturnally... Yeah, I'm a dork.**

**Wanna know what happened between Bill and Narcissa? C'mon. You know you want to. :**_**grins**_**: Then check out the first ficlet chapter of Lingering Interludes; a collection of scenes that just didn't make it into the fic. But don't forget to review this one first! The author likes her reviewers. :**_**sappy grin:**_


	9. Mysteries and Death Steeds

_**

* * *

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_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Nine**_

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At exactly 11:00 AM on September 1st, AC 197, the whistle of the scarlet train proudly baring the name _Hogwarts Express_ shrilled loudly, signifying its immediate departure. Families waved their final goodbyes to the school-bound progeny on the train; likewise, students of every house were waving from windows or, in some cases, out of the doors. The smoke stacks billowed thick, snowy white clouds of smoke as the train inched forward laboriously, gaining momentum until the infamous Platform 9 3/4 was nothing but a speck in the distance.

Duo Maxwell, omnipresent smile of amusement absently curling his lips as he watched the hustle and bustle of London melt away into the rich English countryside, was inwardly boggling that, despite the obvious technological advances of the muggle world, wizards were still using ancient steam engines to get around. This, of course, inspired his imagination to conjure up images of wizards utilizing a more modern form of a travel, such as bullet trains and shuttles and (God forbid) airplanes... which just meant that Duo was thoroughly entertained by his own imagination for about thirty minutes.

When the novelty of wizarding mobile suits wore thin, Duo found himself in a bit of a pickle.

"I'm so bored."

Trowa looked up at his American companion from the content of his book. Closing his textbook (his finger saving his place), he displayed the cover pointedly.

Duo cringed. "Hee-chan made me read the first three chapters of all of my school books already. Reading is the _last_ thing I want to do."

Trowa raised his one visible eyebrow in faint amusement. "Must have been painful, sitting still long enough to accomplish that much."

"Now you're just trying to be funny," the braided boy grumbled, unwilling to admit that Heero -bless him -had rewarded Duo quite generously for every three chapters read. Such had been the case ever since his stoic Japanese boyfriend realized that the American could be inspired to do a hell of a hell with the proper motivation -in this case, "naughty touches" did the trick admirably.

The reserved Slytherin shrugged passively. "I, on the other hand, still have some reading to do." Meaning that Trowa wasn't really planning on entertaining a bored Duo Maxwell. To be fair, Duo thought Trowa probably would have tired of the effort a lot sooner than Quatre, Wufei, or Heero. "Why don't you visit some of your house mates? I'm sure Ron would enjoy the company -Hermione and Harry are in the same meeting as the others." The others being Quatre, Wufei, Heero, and even Draco.

"Not a bad idea, as long as he doesn't ask me to play chess," Duo mused thoughtfully. The strategy game had always been Quatre's forte, while Duo was more interested in big booms -specifically, _causing_ big booms.

Before Duo could take advantage of Trowa's sage advice, there was a soft knock on the compartment door a few seconds before it opened to reveal a cheerfully smiling pixie-faced woman with ultra violet hair and sparkling blue eyes. The woman wore robes that silently attested that she was one of several Aurors escorting the train and its' inhabitants to their inevitable destination.

"Wotcher, boys," she greeted warmly. "Which one of you is Duo Maxwell?"

Trowa looked at Duo, nonplused.

"I've been with you since we arrived at the platform," Duo said in his defense. "C'mon, Tro, not even I'm _that_ good."

Trowa nodded thoughtfully. In retrospect, even if the Gryffindor had the time to do anything playfully nefarious, Duo certainly wouldn't have been caught so easily.

"What can I do ya for, Auror Tonks?" Duo asked once he was satisfied that his friend's suspicions were laid to rest. (Not that he hadn't earned those suspicions, as Duo had spent a great deal of his life getting into some kind of trouble because of his oftentimes manic, hyperactive behavior.)

The woman blinked, taken aback. "How did you know it was me?"

It was Trowa that responded to her inquiry in a collected, matter-of-fact way. "Your voice and body language. Also, you're the only person I've met who greets people in such a manner. You used the same greeting when we visited the Weasley twins' store."

"I was just going on the voice and physical mannerisms," Duo replied impishly. "Love the hair, by the way. Really blanches your skin, though."

Almost instantly, a healthy tan flushed the woman's skin. "Better?"

"Metamorphmagi," Trowa noted. "Very useful."

Tonks laughed softly before reaching into the inside of her robes, drawing out a thick envelope that she held out to Duo. "This came to you from Gringott's earlier. The owl would have delivered it personally, but the higher ups decided to err on the side of caution -we didn't open it, of course, but we did inspect the envelope itself for any dangerous substances and Dark curses."

"Smart," Duo said, impressed. "Getting poisoned or hexed via mail would have definitely put a crimp in my day. Also -totally uncool, taken out by a freaking piece of paper. It would have been a black stain on my flawless record."

Trowa cleared his throat pointedly, his eyes on the pages of his book again.

"Almost flawless record," Duo amended grudgingly, grimacing at the memory of being captured not once, but multiple times, two events of which Trowa had been involved in while incognito. In any case, he took the envelope off of Tonks' hands with a cursory glance at the front, which merely bore his name and, in the lefthand top corner, the seal that Gringott's was known for. "Thanks."

"No problem," Tonks said with a casual wave. "You boys be good now -while I respect my fellow Aurors explicitly, some of them have absolutely nothing resembling a sense of humor, especially when it comes to playful hijinks, if you know what I mean."

"I don't make promises I can't be sure to keep," Duo quipped with a grin, "but I will promise not to get caught."

"Spirits help you if Moody ever heard that," Tonks replied dryly before stepping out, closing the compartment door behind her.

As soon as the door clicked, Duo frowned in puzzlement as he inspected the envelope a little more intently. "Strange... Gringott's has never sent me any bank statements before..."

Interest piqued, Trowa slipped a spare bit of parchment between the pages of his book and placed it aside. "It's a little larger than the average envelope."

Duo nodded absently as he broke the waxy seal that held the envelope closed. Much to his bafflement, he found another smaller envelope within the first, the parchment-like exterior yelled with age. His name, unlike on the Gringott's envelope, was carefully handwritten in beautiful flowing script. The only clue as to the identity of the sender was a strange symbol.

The outer portion of the symbol was a depiction of a snake eating its own tail; Duo vaguely recalled that the depiction was commonly referred to as the Ouroboros, though he couldn't remember learning of its significance in the wizarding world. Within the Ouroboros was a finely drawn Celtic cross, and over the base of the cross was a stem of tiny flowers.

Instead of opening the second envelope, he peered inside the first and found a precisely folded sheet of parchment.

_Duo Maxwell:_

_One the date of (unspecified), the party of the first, the  
__Oracle, bequeathed to the party of the second, Duo Maxwell, in  
__his/her Last Will in Testament the contents as listed:_

_one letter_

_For further information on this matter, please address all  
__question to the executor of this Will, Lactook._

_Thank you._

_**Melinda Bryans  
**__Gringott's Representative_

... Okay?

"Steady on, Watson," Duo muttered as he handed the notice over to Trowa, "there's a mystery afoot."

"Oracle?" Trowa murmured questioningly after skimming over the letter. "Date unspecified... even stranger."

"Not really," Duo said wryly, finally breaking the wax seal on the second envelope. The imprint on the wax seal, he'd noticed, had been identical to the one carefully drawn on the front. "I'm beginning to think I attract weird people like magnets to metal... present company definitely included."

"Now who's trying to be funny?" Trowa retorted calmly, folding the letter from Gringott's and laying it on top of his forgotten book.

Snorting, Duo removed a single folded sheet of parchment from the envelope and unfolded it. The message was short and sweet, written in the same elegant scrawl as his name on the envelope.

_**The Chamber of Secrets was  
**__**named so for a reason.**_

_**Think not of the Dark legacy  
**__**of your blood, but the bright  
**__**future of your destiny.**_

Instead of a signature, the mysterious sender had signed with the same drawn symbol.

The Chamber of Secrets?

"What's the Chamber of Secrets?" Trowa mused after Duo had silently handed his companion the cryptic note. "And... Dark legacy?..."

Duo stood abruptly, taking both letters from his friend and carefully placing them in their respective envelopes. Once he'd slipped the second envelope into the first, he handed it to Trowa. "Keep that. Don't show it to anyone until the others get back and you're alone. When Heero reads it, tell him I said it's okay -I think I know what the second part of that note means, and you guys most likely need to know too if we're going to get to the bottom of this."

Trowa frowned. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Honestly? I don't talk about it," Duo said, his eyes darkening bitterly. "I don't think about it, and Heero, Draco, and Sirius respect my wishes that it never be mentioned. I didn't neglect to tell you guys because of any misguided lack of trust, Trowa -believe me, I trust you guys with my life. I just prefer to never acknowledge it."

Seeing the earnestness on his friend's face, Trowa nodded as he accepted the envelope, which immediately disappeared into the inner pocket of his robes. "Where are you going?"

"I think I've heard something about a secret chamber before," Duo admitted. "Sometimes Neville, Seamus, and Dean talk about all of the things that have happened since their first year, most of which tends to center around Harry. I don't remember a lot of details-" mostly because he had been scheming over harmless practical jokes, usually at Snape's expense, "-but I do recall the words chamber and secrets being strung together."

"Fishing expedition," Trowa noted, nodding in approval. "One problem -Harry is in a prefects' meeting." A popular rule of thumb amongst the five of them had always been as thus: if they needed information, it was best to get it straight from the source.

Duo grinned. "Ron's not."

"Good point," Trowa said with a small smile of amusement. He didn't doubt that Duo would learn something useful; he _was_ Duo, after all, and despite Ron's better qualities, the redhead wasn't known for his observation skills. Duo would more than likely walk away with a skip in his step, the youngest Weasley son none-the-wiser to the American's original intention.

Duo paused at the open door, looking over his shoulder and winking at Trowa as he cheerfully said, "I know, right? I'm a genius."

The compartment door slid closed, cutting off Trowa's quiet chuckle. His confident smile dimming only slightly, the American sighed softly before wandering the lengths of the train.

There had been, after all, a second reason for Duo's leaving. He simply didn't want to be present when the others were briefed on the situation -especially when Heero would explain the events that occurred when he and Draco had been abducted by Death Eaters.

He wasn't ashamed that he was running away from something he definitely didn't want to face; it was in his opening greeting, along with his infamous never lying policy. He was, however, ashamed that he was relying on his boyfriend to face his demons _for_ him. While he didn't consider ignoring his problems a cowardly act, refusing to face them in favor of having someone he loved do it for him was a little irksome.

And being the son of the most feared Dark Lord in wizarding history was a rather big problem. A problem that Duo personally didn't want to have anything to do with. He was perfectly willing to aid in bringing about the defeat of Voldemort, but anything beyond that, he felt, was asking entirely too much of him.

Duo immediately banished his dark thoughts when he found Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas sharing a compartment with several Hufflepuff seventh years Duo vaguely recalled were named Justin Finch-Fletchley and Hannah Abbot.

The moment the four of them saw him, they all froze in panic.

"Oh, cripes, you're looking for Smith, aren't you?" Seamus said wearily, appearing a little concerned. Whatever Duo had been expecting, it certainly hadn't been caution.

"I know it sounds like we're just defending a member of our house," Justin said hurriedly before Duo could get a word in, "but don't be too hard on Zacharias. He really does mean well."

"And we all don't think he's right, either," Hannah added. "We like Quatre well enough."

Duo's eyebrows rose. "Okay. Now I'm interested. Who's Zacharias Smith, what did he do, and why should I be upset about it?"

Dean grimaced, realizing the error of their assumption. "You didn't know..."

"He will now," Justin mumbled regrettably. "Bugger."

Duo closed the compartment door behind him. Instead of welcoming himself to an empty seat, he casually leaned back against the door with crossed arms and an openly expectant expression. "I'm listening."

The four seventh years exchanged cautionary looks. It was Hannah that reluctantly explained.

"I was walking my friend Susan to the prefects' car when we ran into Zacharias and Quatre exchanging words. Well, Quatre was patiently waiting for Zach to finish accusing him of hanging out with Slytherins instead of his house mates... Um, he kind of accused Quatre of being a traitor to his house..." Sheepishly, Hannah cast her eyes down at her clasped hands resting in her lap.

"After which Quat calmly explained that he'd been friends with Tro and Hee-chan way before we came to Hogwarts, and he didn't see why stupid house prejudices should matter when it comes to true comradery," Duo said calmly, obviously surprising them. "Only Quatre would have used a description that is way more diplomatic than 'stupid'."

"You just said you didn't know about what happened," Dean said, puzzled.

Duo snorted dryly. "I may not know the details, man, but I know Quat well enough to predict his reaction to baseless accusations. He's classy enough to beat people with common sense in place of his fists."

"Well, yeah, good point," Justin replied absently. "Quatre's always come off as rather level-headed."

"It's the rest of what Zacharias said that almost made Quatre look as if he was going to throw a punch," Hannah admitted hesitantly. "Zach's not a bad guy, but he can be really..."

"Intolerant?" Dean supplied helpfully.

"Hot-tempered," was what Hannah finally settled with, wincing. "He told Quatre that if he liked his slimy Slytherin friends so much, he should petition for a change of house."

Shit. "Slimy Slytherin friends," Duo repeated tonelessly. "Those were his _exact_ words?"

"I knew you'd be pissed," Seamus mumbled.

"It's not me he needs to worry about," Duo said sincerely. "Hee-chan couldn't give a rat's behind about what anyone says about him, and while I'll defend him to the death, I'm not very inclined to do anything more than a few harmless pranks at Smith's expense as retribution. I'm gonna let this slide, though, because Smith sealed his fate the moment he insulted Trowa to Quat's face. Whatever happens to him later is totally out of my hands as far as I'm concerned."

"But..." Justin started. "I mean, if you're not going to get even... what could possibly happen?"

"I can't say," Duo mumbled heavily, "but if your reactions are anything to go by, I have a suspicious feeling I'm going to get blamed for it." With a sigh of resignation, Duo pushed away from the door as he uncrossed his arms. "On a totally unrelated matter -in fact, continuing on from what brought me here in the first place -you guys wouldn't happen to know where I could find Ron, would you?"

"I think he's with Neville and Lovegood in the next car," Hannah replied after some thought. "I remember seeing them while I was coming back from the prefects' car."

"Look at you, the literal fount of knowledge," Duo said teasingly, winking at the Hufflepuff girl as he reached behind himself and slid the compartment door open. "Thanks, Hannah. By the way, good observation skills. I applaud." And he did so, propping the door open with the heel of his boot.

Hannah blushed, obviously pleased with the praise. "You're welcome, Maxwell."

"Never between friends," Duo said cheerfully. "Call me Duo. Only Snapey calls me Maxwell, and he usually attaches a 'you idiot' on the end. You know -as a sign of affection."

Justin burst out with laughter, managing to say, "You're the absolute limit, Duo!" between snickers.

"Justin, my friend," Duo said, preening, "the more you get to know me, the more you'll find that I have no limit."

"This is true," Dean agreed with a sage nod.

"He calls Snape 'Sexy'," Seamus informed the two Hufflepuffs with a gleeful grin on his face. "In the middle of class. All through class, actually. Snape doesn't even flinch anymore."

"God," Justin said, the two Hufflepuffs looking at Duo in awe. "You're a braver man than me."

"Draco says I'm suicidal. Personally, I like your version better," Duo said honestly, taking a step backwards and outside of the compartment. With an exuberant bow, he added, "Hate to chat and run, but I've got me a Weasley to find. I bid adieu to you, you, you, and especially you. In the infamous words of the Black Widow: Ta, luvs."

Hannah's observation skills turned out to be impeccable, as Duo had found his Weasley in the company of Neville Longbottom and an unfamiliar Ravenclaw girl with dirty blond hair. He didn't know much about Lovegood, but he was fascinated as soon as he noticed she was reading what looked like the wizarding equivalent of a tabloid upside down.

"Hey, no fair," Duo teasingly complained. "You have multiple conversation buddies. I just had Trowa -and I don't know if you've noticed, but he's not big on the talking."

Ron grinned ruefully. "Prefects' meeting stole the rest of your friends too, huh?"

"Note that I didn't make it into their sacred club," Duo said dryly, throwing himself into the empty seat beside the Lovegood girl. "It's probably for the best, in my case. Power corrupts. Absolute power is actually kind of neat."

"Doesn't hurt that most of your mates are prefects," Ron pointed out with a sheepish grin.

"True. Fringe benefits rock my socks. Hey, Nev, how was your summer?"

"A little boring," Neville replied; though his response was casually delivered, Duo's fellow seventh year house mate was pleased he'd been asked. Duo had always had a soft spot for Neville, who was a little shy and awkward, but a good guy, nonetheless. The American wondered in quiet amusement how the guy would react if Duo admitted that he reminded the colony brat of Heero quite uncannily, if weighed on certain metaphorical scales. "From what Ron tells me, that isn't the case with you guys."

_And the weakest link is_, Duo thought wryly, giving the redheaded a secretively amused glance.

... Wait. "Harry didn't tell you anything... strange, did he?" Duo asked, dreading the worst. "Like, oh, something I might have done on his birthday?" _Please say no... Please, God, say no..._

Instead of snickering, Ron brightened. "Oh, yeah, mate! He told me what you did to those bloody awful muggles in glorious detail. No one deserved it more than them!"

_Oh, bless your soul, Harry, my boy! I got a discrete one_! "Let's keep that on the DL, okay?" Duo suggested weakly, faking sheepishness. "What I did wasn't exactly... legal. Harmless, but the Dursleys can claim long-term mental trauma, and I can get into a lot of trouble in the muggle world." With a short pause, he snorted derisively, adding sarcastically, "And I'd hate to take the fall for their pre-existing brain damage, anyway. Jackasses."

Ron and Neville stared at him; even the Lovegood girl pulled her attention away from her tabloid long enough to stare at him in a fascinated bug-under-a-magnifying-glass sort of way.

Just when Duo was tempted to feel at his neck for any large unsightly skin tumors, Ron asked blankly, "DL?"

Lovegood finally looked away, her eyes immediately finding a resting place between the pages of the Quibbler, almost as if she'd lost all interest in Duo or anything reality-related.

Strange girl. Duo kind of liked her, in a strange "I have no idea what you're all about, but I think it's swell" sort of way.

"Down low," Duo replied promptly, grinning apologetically. "Muggle slang. In Britishspeak, 'Mums the word.' Whatever the hell that means." He glanced curiously at Lovegood. "Whatcha reading?"

"The Quibbler," she replied absently, her eyes never leaving a (no doubt fascinating) article. "My father's the editor."

"Guess he loves his job," Duo noted thoughtfully. Lovegood spared a quick glance for Duo before nodding in affirmation.

"What makes you say that?" Neville asked curiously.

"Well, she wouldn't read the Quibbler if her father hated his job, right?" Duo shrugged before holding his hand out to the Ravenclaw. "I don't think we've ever met. My name's Duo Maxwell -I run, I hide, but I never tell a lie. That's me in a nutshell."

She tilted her head to the side, regaining her piercing gaze. "What are you hiding from?"

He'd never been asked that before. It was odd, not having a pre-existing quip meant to lighten the mood, effortlessly distracting people from his introductory statement.

So, with all honesty, he replied, "Sometimes memories are too painful to carry around, so I ditch 'em until they come back and bite me in the ass."

She must have heard something she liked because she finally reached out and clasped his hand, her brittle fingers grasping his with surprising firmness. "My name is Luna. Luna Lovegood. I don't like liars very much, so it's good you aren't one."

Yep. Definitely a strange girl.

"Happy to oblige," Duo said warmly. "So what were you guys talking about before my somewhat rude but nonetheless necessary interruption?"

Ron and Neville exchanged guilty glances. Luna, her gaze straying back to her paper, murmured dreamily, "We were talking about what kind of trouble Harry will get into this year."

Ron gawked. "You were _listening_?"

Good Lord. "Ron, you have no tact," Duo said with a dry chuckle. "We like you all the same, but, let's face it -subtle, you are not."

Ron, realizing his faux pas (if a little belatedly), had the decency to look a little regretful of his blunt exclamation as he muttered a quick apology to Luna.

And, like she hadn't even been interrupted, she continued, "In my opinion, a lot of exciting things are going to happen this year. After all, last year was relatively uneventful for Harry, right? It's like a calm before the storm."

"Ah, well, you know what they say about storms," Duo replied vaguely. "They always pass through. I have a really good feeling about this year."

"You're probably right," Ron said, visibly cheering up. "I mean, it's started off on the right foot. Sirius is free, everyone knows You Know Who is back and, what's best, most people are taking it rather well. The Ministry seems to know what they're doing for once, and we're finally graduating. Maybe this year won't be too bad."

"I didn't say it's not going to be eventful, but it's sure as hell not going to be tragic." _I won't let it._ "I just have a good feeling about it, is all." Carefully schooling his expression, Duo carefully asked, "What about previous years in the lives of Hogwarts' students, anyway? I remember stuff about the Philosopher's Stone and the year Sirius escaped from Azkaban, and I've heard a little about the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"In our second year, Ron and Harry drove a flying car into the Whomping Willow," Neville said, grinning at the blustering redhead.

"It was that bloody house elf's fault," Ron said defensively. "He sealed the entrance to Platform 9 3/4 before we could pass through! The same house elf who, by the way, cursed a bludger to chase Harry during a Quidditch match. Harry had to spend the night in the Infirmary regrowing every bone in his arm when that git Lockhart decided to bungle about," derisive snort, "'helping.'"

Duo, eyebrows raised, said skeptically, "A house elf did all of that?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "Dobby. He's the Malfoys' old house elf. Apparently, he'd overheard a plot to open the Chamber of Secrets, and he tried to keep Harry safe by keeping him out of Hogwarts. Barmy house elf, if you asked me."

Bingo. "Chamber of Secrets?" Duo inquired with a vague air of interest. "What's that?"

Luckily, Ron was eager to spill the juicy story in glorious detail. "The Chamber of Secrets is where Salazar Slytherin kept his basilisk for his Heir to sic on muggleborns after he disappeared. That monster stayed down there until the Heir of Slytherin trotted it out for a test run over fifty years ago; he managed to kill one girl before he pinned the blame on Hagrid and his freaky pet spider, which is as big as a house. He managed to do it again through a diary in my second year. For a while, everyone thought _Harry_ was the Heir of Slytherin."

Duo snorted. Harry? Ordering monsters to kill innocent people? Like hell. "What gave them such a ridiculous idea, pray tell?"

"Because Harry's a Parselmouth; the only one there's been since Tom Riddle, the Heir of Slytherin.

Riddle.

Oh, God. "You mean Voldemort," Duo said, ignoring Ron's flinch. "Dragon boy told me he's a Parselmouth."

"Yeah, he's the Heir of Slytherin," Ron confirmed with a nod.

It made sense now -the connection between the Chamber of Secrets and the vague reference to his sordid little Skywalker dilemma.(1)

"In fact, only a Parselmouth can open the Chamber," Ron continued, unaware of Duo's inner emotional upheaval. "The entrance is in a strange place -the third-floor girls' loo."

That was more information than Duo could have possibly hoped for. With a raised eyebrow, he inquired, amused, "The one that's always flooding?"

"That's Moaning Myrtle," Neville said with a grimace. "She's haunts that lavatory."

"She's the girl that died fifty years ago," Ron added. "You Know Who used the basilisk to kill her in that lavatory."

Oh, it was sounding better by the minute. Note the sarcasm. "Nasty. That basilisk -it isn't still lingering in the Chamber, is it?"

"No. Harry killed it with the sword of Gryffindor, which he pulled out of the Sorting Hat. They only thing left is that empty chamber."

_The Chamber of Secrets was named so for a reason._ The words of the mysterious note echoing in his mind, Duo seriously doubted the validity of Ron's assurance that there was nothing left down there.

Before Duo could say anymore on the matter, the compartment door slid open so quickly and with such force that it banged loudly into the wall. Duo's hand had automatically flown to his gun resting at his side underneath his robes, but he quickly pulled away and settled in a casually relaxed position when he saw Hermione at the door, her eyes glimmering excitedly. Behind and to the side of her was Harry, Hermione's fist twisted in a great deal of fabric of his school robes.

He could feel Lovegood's eyes piercing into the back of his skull, and Duo mentally winced. No doubt she'd noticed where his hand went when they'd been startled. He didn't know how savvy she was when it came to muggle know-how, but she was probably very aware that wizards didn't typically store their wands at their sides.

Duo did notice, despite Lovegood's brutally distracting gaze, that Harry was holding two envelopes in his left hand, the smaller of the two envelopes resting on top. In the upper left corner of the envelope was the same Ouroboros-hybrid symbol that graced Duo's own mysterious letter.

_The Oracle strikes again_, Duo thought, lifting his eyes to Hermione's face when Harry quickly hid the envelope behind his back with an uncomfortable wince. "Who set the train on fire?"

Hermione blinked, knocked off guard. "What?"

Duo grinned impishly. "Where's the fire? Or were you just _that_ eager to bask in the presence of your redheaded Gryffindor stud?"

As one, two of the infamous Gryffindor Trio blushed hotly while the Golden Boy himself disguised a snicker behind a cough; the attempt had been rather poor, at best.

Hermione ignored his jest. "Draco's looking for you."

Harry grimaced uncomfortably, obviously inspired by guilt when he added sympathetically, "He's in a foul mood."

Duo had no doubt that Harry was directly responsible for Draco's poor attitude. The former Malfoy heir probably hated being left out of the secret circle of Hogwarts' Crimestoppers, and he was probably even more frustrated that Harry was "playing a hero" again. Judging by Hermione's frank dismissal, Duo hadn't made it into the club, either.

He didn't really care, though; he'd found what he'd been looking for. In all honesty, even if Hermione didn't mind his inclusion, there was no way in hell that he would consider returning the favor. It was all merely par for the course as far as he was concerned.

"So what else is new?" Duo retorted drolly, gracefully standing up. "Guess I'll go bare the brunt of dragon boy's full scorn. I'll see you guys after we get to Hogwarts." He turned and offered his hand to Lovegood, and she immediately returned the favor. "Really interesting meeting you, Luna."

She smiled absently. "The same, Duo Maxwell." The American had a strange feeling that there was a double entendre there.

"Pardon me, Mione," Duo said. The girl quickly moved out of the way, taking Harry with her. She finally seemed to notice that her fingers were tightly twisted in the fabric of her friend's robes, and she instantly let go with pink cheeks.

Duo grinned teasingly at her as he brushed passed. Turning back to the occupants of the compartment with a jaunty wave, he said, "Later, guys! Bye, Mione. Harry." With an understanding grin at the green-eyed hero, Duo began to make his journey back to his compartment.

Before he was out of earshot, Harry murmured thankfully, "He took that way better than Draco did."

"A little too well," Duo heard Hermione reply suspiciously. He grinned to himself ruefully; Hermione Granger _would _be the one to secretly question his motives and privately voice her concerns.

On his way back to his compartment, he idly scanned the corridors of the train for traces of an irate Head Boy, who he eventually found bullying a timid blonde first year girl.

Typical.

"Hey, hey, dragon boy," Duo protested, clapping his hand on the incensed boy's shoulder. "Now what did I say about using your position to intimidate hapless first years? It reeks of moral repugnancy, man. Bad for karma." To the girl, he suggested gently, "You should run. I'll hold off the big bad Head Boy."

Wide-eyed (and with perhaps the faint beginning of a crush on her savior), the girl muttered a quick thanks before sprinting back down the corridor and disappearing into the next car.

Draco narrowed his eyes on Duo in irritation. "You let her get away, you ponce."

Glancing up and down the empty corridor, the American leaned closer to Draco and murmured prettily, "Draco, what's the symbolism behind an Ouroboros?"

Draco's eyes widened marginally before he said, "So you saw it too."

"I didn't only see it, dragon boy," Duo murmured with a smug grin. "I received a letter that had the same crest. Since Ron and Hermione are going to be stubborn about including you on all the fun," and Duo didn't doubt that Harry was going to rectify that, "why don't you join in on my own mystery in the making?"

"After an invitation like that," Draco replied, his mood visibly improving, "how could I refuse?"

It was exactly what Duo wanted to hear. After all, even if Draco was in the dark about what the Gryffindor Trio was up to now, he wouldn't be for long. Harry would eventually wear the others down enough for his friends to reluctantly accept his decision to involve his boyfriend in on an important aspect of his life. After that, Duo would know at least a little more about what this mysterious all-knowing Oracle person had to say to Harry, no doubt spurring yet another exciting adventure.

"Squeeze in," Duo said cheerfully after pulling the compartment door open -well, after knocking first, in any case. The four occupants of the compartment shifted closer together (much to Wufei's visible discomfort). Duo squeezed into the small space available between Heero and the window. After sliding the door closed and locking it, Draco cast a silencing spell on the door before squeezing next to Quatre.

"What did you find out?" Heero asked bluntly, looking Duo over in concern.

The American smiled at his boyfriend before looking at the others. "You guys have been briefed, right? Well, except Draco, but he knows some of the gory details anyway, so it shouldn't take him long to catch up."

"Heero told us," Quatre said quietly, obviously still turning the matter over in his head.

"Right," Duo said, holding his hand out to Trowa. The reserved Slytherin handed the envelopes to Duo, who then passed both of them to Draco before launching into his report.

"The Chamber of Secrets was Salazar Slytherin's secret sanctum. Inside of the Chamber was a monster called a basilisk, which Tom Riddle -A.K.A. Voodletort -used to kill a girl in a bathroom fifty years ago. She still haunts that bathroom, by the way, so it might be a little tricky getting around her. The entrance to the Chamber happens to be in the same bathroom."

"How do we open the entrance?" Wufei inquired as Draco frowned over the short note from the Oracle, immediately glancing back at the Gringott's notification.

"Parseltongue," Duo replied, adding with a dry snort, "Apparently, Slytherin was one, as are all the Heirs of Slytherin. I'm not an exception to that rule. Got something there, dragon boy?"

"I believe so," Draco said slowly, lifting the Gringott's letter once again. "There hasn't been a Ministry-recognized Oracle in well over centuries -maybe even over a thousand years. No matter how hard we look, we'll never find out who he or she was; the wizarding world lost a lot of important information to attacks from Grindelwald's followers fifty years ago, and whatever they could recover was destroyed during Death Eater attacks during Voldemort's first attempted coup. It's probably why the date is unspecified."

"Okay, that bites," Duo sighed. "We'll manage. What about the crest? Do you know anything about it?"

"A little," Draco replied. "The Ouroboros is an alchemic symbol -the depiction of a snake or dragon devouring its own tail represents time cycling and all things returning to the One. Makes sense for an Oracle, I suppose," he added absently. "It also symbolizes immortality, since the snake kills itself and brings itself back to life. Wufei might be familiar with a different story -the Ouroboros has roots in Eastern myths."

Wufei made a noncommital hum of acknowledgment. "I know of it, but not a lot. I was never interested in mythology."

"The Celtic cross is a little odd -it's a muggle hybrid of Christian and Druid symbolism. A muggle man was shown a stone, marked with a circle that represented a moon goddess. He drew a Latin cross over the circle and vowed to adopt some of the Druids ides and practices into Christian ideology." Draco shrugged. "I can't imagine a pureblood wizard using a Celtic cross in any sort of crest, so the Oracle could quite possibly have been muggleborn or halfblood -exposed to muggles, at the very least.(2)

"The flowers resemble Lilies of the Valley," the Head Boy added finally. "They're used in certain potions for heart conditions, but alone they're poisonous; they can cause headaches, nausea and vomiting, slow heart rate, and excessive urination. I don't know what the symbolism behind these flowers are, though -well, aside from the fact they're supposed to protect gardens from evil spirits."

"So... time and immortality, obvious Christian influences, and Lilies of the Valley -which might be another connection to Christian myths, at the most," Duo admitted thoughtfully. "When Eve was cast out of the Garden of Eden, she cried tears that gave birth to Lilies of the Valley. Another popular myth is that when the Virgin Mary witnessed the crucifixion of her son, her tears of sorrow grew Lilies of the Valley, as well."

"At this junction, we won't find out any more until we visit the Chamber of Secrets," Quatre murmured contemplatively. "The crest itself is probably riddled with clues, so it would be best if we kept what we know about it thus far close to mind when we investigate the chamber."

"When should we investigate?" Heero asked. "Tonight wouldn't be adequate. Tomorrow night would most likely be best -it would be even better if someone can convince Harry to let us borrow his map."

Oh, yeah... "Might be tricky," Duo said grudgingly. "Harry got a letter from this Oracle guy, too -and we aren't invited on that adventure."

Quatre frowned. "That's a pity. It would help if we knew the contents of Harry's letter, especially if it has anything to do with Duo's."

Duo grinned wickedly at Draco. "That's where you come in, dragon boy."

"I don't know if you've noticed, hamster boy," the blond responded darkly, traces of a scowl twisting his face, "but I'm not in their exclusive little club, either."

"Not yet," Duo said airily. "C'mon, dragon boy, you don't honestly think Harry's going to leave you in the dark for long. Eventually, he's going to convince Mione and Ron that, as his boyfriend, you deserve to at least _know_ about what's going on.

"Don't get me wrong," Duo said quickly, noticing that Draco didn't seem very enthused about the idea. "If it has absolutely nothing to do with me and my mystery, don't bother telling any of us about it -if Harry doesn't want us to know, we won't pry. If our letters _are_ related, though... I trust that you'll only tell me what _you_ think I need to know. Okay?"

Draco, appeased, shrugged casually. "I don't have a problem with that, as long as you don't expect me to tell you anything unrelated to your mystery. Even as a Slytherin, I have my conscience-niggling doubts about spying on my boyfriend."

"You have a conscience?" Duo questioned in faux innocence, earning a nasty scowl from the blond Slytherin.

"Yes," he said curtly. "I do. Ponce," he added in a mutter.

"Draco, people with consciences don't usually go around bullying first years to tears out of misplaced aggression," the American chided the blond teasingly.

"Mine happens to be perfectly fine with it," Draco said haughtily, lifting his nose in the air. "You're just a soft-hearted ninny who has to be everyone's 'pal.'"

"You say the sweetest things to me."

"Train's slowing down," Trowa noted suddenly. The sun had completely disappeared under the horizon, leaving only faint traces of brighter shades of blue that eventually bled into night.

"We shouldn't be too far from Hogsmeade Station," Draco informed them, standing from his seat. "I should probably go do some of those pesky Head Boy duties before Granger catches me slacking off. Bossy beaver-toothed bint."

"Nice alliteration," Duo noted with an impish grin.

"Harry didn't think so," the blond replied dryly. "Neither did said bossy beaver-toothed bint. I'm pretty sure most of the prefects secretly agreed with me."

Wufei scowled irritably. "We endured three hours of hearing that woman lecture us about our duties as prefects. I almost alked out when she started reciting guidelines and school policy straight from that blasted book she's always touting about."

Duo and Trowa exchanged amused smirks. Suddenly, Duo didn't mind that he'd missed out on the whole prefect experience.

It was wasn't long until the _Hogwarts Express_ pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Students, along with their Auror guards, crowded the platform, the majority herding toward a line of awaiting carriages in the distance while Professor Rubeus Hagrid, in his traditional Gamekeeper role, called the incoming first years to follow him to the lake.

When the five of them approached the carriages, they all stopped to study the grim, nightmarish horse-like creatures that were harnessed to the carriages in groups of four.

"No wonder they take the first years across the lake," Duo said wryly, offering a hand to one of the creatures. Much to the surprise of the others, the creature seemed pleased with Duo's attention, nuzzling his hand gently with its snout. "These guys would scare the hell out of an eleven year old. I kind of like them, though."

"Uh," Seamus started as he passed, stopping long enough to give his American house mate a strange look. "Duo, what are you doing?"

Without missing a beat, Duo responded glibly, "Making nice with the scary horsies."

Dean, accompanying Seamus, said skeptically, "What horsies?"

"There's nothing there," Seamus pointed out gently, appearing vaguely worried about his house mate's mental health. Duo dropped his hand quickly, glancing questioningly at Heero. The Japanese boy's nod was barely perceivable, but Duo read it loud and clear -Heero saw the creatures, too.

"That's because they're _invisible_ scary horsies," Duo responded solemnly, his eyes shining with inner mirth when he looked at his two fellow seventh year Gryffindors.

The two boys laughed, relieved by Duo's light-hearted dismissal of his own strange behavior before they moved on.

Duo glanced back at the creature, impressed. "Nice trick. What do you do for an encore?"

"I wonder why no one else can see them," Quatre mused quietly before Trowa helped him into the empty carriage.

"I think the real question is, why can we?" Wufei said lowly, giving one of the creatures a thorough once over before finally climbing into the carriage, closing the small door behind him. As soon as he was seated, the carriage began to amble along after the line of carriages that went on before them.

"Someone else has got to be able to see them," Trowa pointed out logically. "It's almost impossible that we just happen to be able to see imaginary horses. Someone had to have strapped them in their harnesses, and they're tame as far as I can tell. That usually indicates that someone takes care of them on a regular basis."

Duo snickered in amusement. "Now that you mention it, scary horsies are right up Hagrid's alley. We could always ask him about it."

As it turned out, they didn't have to ask Hagrid anything. The moment their carriage had come to a complete stop and the five of them were unloading from the cabin, Draco stalked over to them, dragging Harry behind him.

"Why do you people love to drag me around?" Harry asked plaintively.

When Draco stopped and dropped Harry's wrist, he tossed the Gryffindor a foul look as he muttered, "That better not have been a comparison between me and your annoying bossy friend."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Harry said sardonically.

Ignoring his boyfriend's obvious sarcasm, he looked back and pointed irately at the creatures harnessed to the carriages, demanding, "Tell me you can see those!"

"Oh, good," Duo said nonchalantly. "We're not insane."

"I take it you haven't always been able to see them," Wufei noted thoughtfully.

"I swear they've never been there before," Draco said. "Pansy and Blaise told me to go to St. Mungo's and have my head examined. What _are_ they?"

It was Harry who provided the answer. "Thestrals," he said quietly. "As far as I know, only you guys, Luna, and I can see them. Only those that have seen death can see thestrals."

Duo glanced at Draco and grinned sheepishly. "Whoops."

"That's all you're going to say to me?" the blond demanded waspishly, glaring at the American haughtily. "I see death steeds and you're going to say 'whoops' and carry on walking?"

"Yep, pretty much," Duo said evenly, patting one of the thestrals on the snout fondly before heading for Hogwarts with a slight skip to his step. "I think they're cool."

"I think you're brain damaged," Draco shot back snottily, rushing to catch up with the American. Harry and the other four were only a step behind him, all showing vague signs of amusement as the two boys entered yet another contest of wills.

"They have wings," Duo pointed out.

"Well, that's bleeding obvious, isn't it?" Draco said prickily. "The better to pick us up with their teeth and drop us from deadly heights."

"You really hate Care of Magical Creatures, don't you?"

"I am to CoMC as Longbottom is to Potions," Draco sniped. "Dangerous and most likely to fall prey to injury. And don't change the subject!"

"Look, wouldn't you rather know a thestral is around instead of just blundering about unaware? You should be happy you can see them now -at least you can avoid them."

"They're creepy," Draco whined, obviously for lack of any retort contrary to Duo's logic.

"Suck it up, dragon boy." _I win_, Duo thought smugly as he entered the Great Hall, the others directly behind them. Two things happened at once.

Harry, eyes wide as he spotted a familiar figure sitting comfortably at the Head Table, blurted, "Sirius!"

As if hearing his godson's surprised cry over the den of the mingling students, Sirius Black turned away from the other familiar man at the Head Table and waved cheerfully in their general direction, an roguish grin on his face.

Heero's eyes, however, were narrowed intently on the blond long-haired man who was smirking faintly at the Japanese boy from across the Hall.

"Zechs," Trowa murmured. "Hmm."

What was Milliardo Peacecraft doing back at Hogwarts?

_**END CHAPTER NINE**_

**(1) Duo's such a Star Wars nerd. :_grins_:**

**(2) The muggle man was St. Patrick, of course, though this version of the creation of the Celtic cross is only a rumor. No one really knows the significance behind the Celtic cross, so I picked one that suited my needs.**

**Yes, I was perfectly aware that there had been a serious lack of plot advancement until now. Sirius is probably the reason for that; as you can see, I kind of need him at Hogwarts. :_grins_: Then Narcissa kept bugging the crap out of me, which should explain chapter eight... I needed to get that woman out of my system. Heheh. I like how this chapter turned out a lot better. :_silly grin_:**

**Sorry if there are any words left out, as I'd noticed in the last chapter. I don't get a lot of time on my parents' computer, so the last two chapters have been completely handwritten. I type pretty fast, and sometimes my eyes tend to skip over random words in my notebook when I'm copying everything to the computer.** **Coincidentally, I don't have a lot of time to proofread, either. :_sweatdrops_:**


	10. Intentions Revealed and Just Desserts

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Be patient with me, please. I'm now... :grimace: ... employed. (Oh, woe...) Updates might be a little slower than usual. On that matter, I know I promised some of you that I would have had this out a lot sooner, but I actually have to train for my job, and if I don't pass my certification test... I don't have a job. Which would SUCK after all the trouble I went through to get the damn thing. :grumbles:**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! It drove me to finally pull away from studying to finish this! YAY!**

**Onward!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Ten**_

* * *

****

He was in unchartered territory, thrown into a strange world filled with magic and unicorns and dragons, where time in relation to technology had come to a standstill ages before he was even born. Though his perceivable aura of collectiveness never cracked, he found it difficult to mask an amazing amount of awe and trepidation every time a wizard or witch so casually proved the existence of mystical powers that he'd been ensured since childhood were not real. Magic was supposed to be nothing more than smoke, mirrors, and slight of hand. Never real.

Wrong. It _was_ real, the laws of reality _could_ be warped, and Relena Dorlian was _fascinated_ by it. She was joined by Lady Une in that respect.

Thus Milliardo Peacecraft's presence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His sister, her inner-politician brimming with new ideas, wanted a firsthand account of the inner workings of the wizarding world. Unfortunately, as Vice Foreign Minister, Relena was much too busy keeping the delicate peace between the colonies and the Earth Sphere Alliance healthy to have time to take on the role herself -but who better to take her place than her brother, we tended to have a lot more free time on his hands than he was willing to admit.

Of course, he had Lady Une to thank for putting him in this situation in the first place. She had been the one to suggest it to Relena, after all; though the Head of the Preventers Organization had other things on her mind that inspired her to make the suggestion.

"I worry about those boys, Agent Wind," Une had said, her attention focused on the beautiful skyline view outside of her office window. "I want you to keep an eye on them. Keep them out of trouble -but provide backup if they need it."

On the plus side, Zechs couldn't help but to be secretly amused when he finally noticed the five Gundam pilots staring at him from across the Great Hall, especially when he noticed Heero Yuy's gun hand spasm once before clenching into a fist. Subtly raising his glass to the wary former Gundam pilot (and favorite rival), Zechs obviously found that the old saying proved true: old habits really did die hard.

The chatty man beside him dropped his hand from its' jubilant wave. With a covert glance from Heero to Zechs, the Englishman asked keenly, "You know Yuy?"

Zechs smirked lazily. "We've met."

"Sounds like an interesting story," the man said with a touch of wicked humor before he offer his hand to Zechs. "How rude -I've been talking to you for fifteen minutes, and I've yet to introduce myself. I'm Sirius Black -the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

The former White Fang leader tilted his head to the side as he reconsidered the man beside him; more specifically, his appearance. With longer, unkempt hair and a less jovial expression, take away a few pounds... "As in the escaped convict?" Very rarely did a Preventer cast his eyes to the myriad of wanted posters crowding the office board; Zechs Marquise was not one of this particular breed of Preventer.

"I was acquitted," Black chimed promptly, his offered hand never wavering.

Interesting. "Milliardo Peacecraft," he said, finally accepting Black's hand. "From what I understand, we'll be working very close together."

"Will we?" Black mused aloud, leaning forward to look at the twinkly-eyed Headmaster sitting comfortably on Zechs' other side. "I haven't heard anything about that."

Albus Dumbledore smiled whimsically. "It's a fairly recent effort by the muggle Vice Foreign Minister and the Head of the Preventers Organization to create better understanding of muggle culture and physical fitness. I've been led to believe that there are many forms of defense the typical wizard takes for granted in place of magic -Agent Peacecraft's new Muggle Defense course will directly correspond with your DADA classes, Sirius, in hopes of teaching our students what to do in the unfortunate event that he or she lose his or her wand."

Black's eyebrows rose curiously. "'Agent' Peacecraft?"

"I occasionally answer to Zechs Marquise," Zechs said evenly, casually sipping from his goblet as he watched lingering students find seats at their respective house tables. "As we'll be working together, I would prefer Zechs." It was at Relena's request that her brother take on his real name while escorting her on diplomatic matters that prompted him to introduce himself as Milliardo Peacecraft -as far as he was concerned, he would always be Zechs Marquise first and foremost.

"Still doesn't shed any light on that fascinating title, Zechs," the man said gamely.

Zechs chuckled quietly. "I'm a Preventer. Ah... the muggle version of an Unspeakable, I believe is the analogy Headmaster Dumbledore used."

"Quite right, my boy," the wizen man said gaily, popping what appeared to be a round yellow candy into his mouth before offering the bag to Zechs with a dotty smile. "Lemon drop?"

Zechs politely declined.

"Like an Unspeakable, you say?" Black hummed, casting a searching glance toward the Slytherin table, eyes landing on Heero Yuy. Almost as if instantly becoming aware of eyes on him, the Japanese pilot's shoulders stiffened rigidly. "And... you know Yuy."

"I do," Zechs replied evenly, sipping at his goblet again. He wasn't sure he liked the pumpkin-flavored concoction, but he noticed it seemed to be a wizarding world favorite.

"He's different," Black hedged softly, sending Zechs a pointed glance.

"He is." Said with such absolute certainty that it left no doubt to the validity of his agreement. "I'm guessing I'm not the only one who has had the pleasure of meeting Heero Yuy."

It was Black's turn to smirk lazily as he drawled, "You can say that. He's the brat that got me acquitted." Zechs wasn't surprised by that announcement. For someone labeled by the public as having such little value for human life, the pilot of Wing Zero had a remarkable capacity for doing the right thing, no matter the costs. "Your Muggle Defense -will it encourage students to be different, too?"

"If they're willing to learn," Zechs replied in quiet confidence.

Sirius Black smirked, obviously pleased. "Excellent! I do believe you and I are going to make a marvelous team, Zechs Marquise."

Well, this was going even better than expected. "Likewise, Sirius Black."

And, a little further down the table, Severus Snape couldn't help but to bare witness to the entire damn exchange. As it sounded to him, it appeared that the mongrel had a new cohort on staff.

"Bugger."

----------

"I remember him," Draco said, narrowing his eyes intently on the long-haired handsome man sitting innocently between Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore. "He came last year with that muggle chit who was all kissy-face with Heero." Then, in a tone heavier with accusation, he added indignantly, "He's a _muggle_."

Pansy Parkinson tapped the tips of her perfectly manicured nails against the scarred wood of the table, a thoughtfully introspective gleam in her pale green eyes as they roamed over what she could see of the handsome man. "Should that really matter if he has the body of a god?"

Traitor.

At Draco's acidic glare, Blaise Zabini murmured smoothly, "She does have a point, Draco. The muggle is yummy eye-candy. There's no denying the obvious."

"The point is," Draco said bitingly, giving both of his friends nasty looks, "he's a _muggle_. He has no place in a school for wizards, so what's his purpose here?"

"Dumbledore realized that there is a serious lack of handsome fellows on the payroll for us sex-starved deviants to ogle?" Pansy said innocently, fluttering her eyelashes when Draco sighed noisily in irritation. "Just a suggestion, mind you."

"I give up," Draco grumbled in disgust, turning away from his friends to pout.

"I'd like to know why Zechs is here, as well," Trowa murmured thoughtfully, his visible green eye absently straying to the muggle man. "His presence is certainly unexpected, don't you think, Heero?"

The Japanese Slytherin grunted gruffly in response, reminding Draco of Duo's previous complaint, waged just before the group separated to find seats at their respective house tables. "Fabulous. The freaking Lightning Count is here. Now Hee-chan's going to revert back to his monosyllabic non-responses and cranky mission face." So far, Duo's words were proving true.

When Pansy and Blaise were busy catching up with Millicent Bulstrode and Ivanna Moon, Draco leaned closer to Trowa and murmured, "What's the story between Heero and that muggle? And don't tell me there's no story. The vibes are a dead giveaway."

Trowa glanced at Heero and, when receiving no indication that the Japanese boy would prefer to keep such things private, he said quietly, "They are... rivals. In the truest sense of the word."

"Rivals in what?"

"A lot of things," was Trowa's vague response.

Before Draco could inquire about the matter further, the large doors of the Great Hall swung open. Professor McGonagall, head held high with her typical Gryffindor gusto, led a trail of pint-sized first years between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff House tables and to the front of the hall.

"Blond kid with the exotic tan," Blaise pointed out quietly, indicating an incoming first year with hair bleached by the sun and skin darkened by the same harsh exposure. "Slytherin for sure."

The age old game underway, Pansy inspected the new first years with renewed interest before she finally said, "Dark-haired girl with the brown eyes -the one walking with a slight limp. Definite Slytherin material."

Draco only glanced up for a moment before he said confidently, "Auburn-haired fellow with the beaky nose. That one's a shoe-in."

Blaise tilted his head critically. "Isn't he the Newfounder Heir? Nathaniel or Nathan or something."

"Nicholas, actually," Pansy corrected Blaise primly. "I'm surprised to see him here -his family usually sticks to Durmstang."

"I don't recognize the blond kid," Draco said absently as the first years huddled in front of McGonagall, the Sorting Hat waiting patiently atop the stool beside her. "Definitely pureblood -either that, or he's really good at hiding his surprise."

The chatter died instantly when the brim of the Hat split open, and the Sorting Hat burst into a song.

_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_The had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their yearning._

"_Together we will build and teach!"_

_The four friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might someday be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those_

_Whose cunning is greatest."_

_Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those_

_Whose intelligence is surest."_

_Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name."_

_Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same."_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A House in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took those of great cunning, like him_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the Houses and their Founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The Houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with dueling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When young Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the Founder Four_

_Where whittled down to three_

_Have the Houses been united_

_As they were once meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into Houses_

_Because that is what I'm for;_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song._

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfill my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you..._

_Let the Sorting now begin._

"Cheerful," Trowa said evenly as, hesitantly, students began to applaud while murmuring questioningly amongst themselves.

"Hat's been a real downer lately," Draco said dismissively. "Doom and gloom and, spirits, the _lecturing_..." He made a sour face.

From across the Hall, Duo clearly agreed with Draco's sentiments when he loudly called for someone to slip the hat some happy pills, spurring many students who were muggle-aware to snicker and laugh while purebloods looked at the laughing students, nonplused.

McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly, sending her student a stern glare that clearly demanded that Duo remain on his best behavior (which, admittedly, meant very little when one considered just who McGonagall was facially berating). Undeterred, the American waved jauntily at his Head of House before settling back into his seat, the perfect picture of innocence -if one didn't take note of the wickedly mischievous gleam in his amethyst eyes.

----------

A singing hat.

Zechs almost asked if Disney had the copyright patent collecting dust somewhere in it's ancient archive, but he had a suspicious feeling no one would understand the jest.

"Someone get that hat some Zoloft!" Duo Maxwell called out jovially from his seat at the table situated at the farthest left of the Hall. Clearly, the boy wasn't so concerned about certain students being confused about a popularized 'muggle' thing.

After Minerva sent the American a warning glance that prompted the boy to settle back into his seat, a wild unrepentant grin splitting his face, the woman finally turned her attention back to the roster in her hands.

"Adams, Amara."

A dark-haired girl swept forward and took the Sorting Hat from its resting place, settling on the stool. She quickly lifted the hat and rested it on her head, completely silent.

After a moment, the brim opened again and bellowed, "SLYTHERIN!"

The table of students at the far right began to applaud as the girl... limped?... to a seat at the empty end of that table. Before she sat, Zechs noted that the girl's left leg was perhaps a quarter of an inch shorter than her right, which was something he was going to have to make adjustments for in his class.

His class. _Dear God, I'm in way over my head..._

"Bertram, Reynold."

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Burton, Yasmine."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Callahan, Frederick."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Connally, Michael."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

One after the other, the Deputy Headmistress whittled her way down the list of students, and the Sorting Hat diligently fulfilled its purpose, its booming voice bellowing House names before, applause, and the new member joined their cheering House mates. Some of them Zechs found interesting; first years that certainly stood out in the crowd.

"Quraishi, Karim."(1)

_That_ was definitely the one that topped them all. Zechs visibly straightened in his seat, flickering his icy blue eyes upon the remaining first years. The boy was easy to spot in a crowd, with such contrasting fair hair and dark skin. Perhaps his most prominent feature was his eyes, specifically, the pale silvery color of his irises.

And the kid was the bloody prince of Saudi Arabia. Zechs even remembered attending the little prince's eleventh birthday celebration with his sister; not as Vice Foreign Minister and Preventer escort, but as Princess Relena and Prince Milliardo Peacecraft. In fact, Zechs recalled with amusement, the boy's father had been very eager to arrange an engagement between the eleven year old prince and the much older Princess of Sanq. The man insisted to pursue such arrangements, not through Relena herself, but through her brother.

Relena had not been amused. She wouldn't speak to Zechs for weeks after the incident, even though he defended his uncontrollable fit of laughter at her expense as something she would have done if the tables had been turned.

Zechs pulled away from his musing just in time to witness the Sorting Hat bellow, "SLYTHERIN!"

As the House cheered, Sirius Black leaned closer to Zechs, mumbling from the side of his mouth, "Why do I suddenly want to stand up and bow?"

Dumbledore chuckled knowingly and murmured in response, "Perhaps it's best that you curb such an inclination, dear boy, lest the students begin to think they hold rank to professors that bow to them."

Sirius blinked and straightened in his seat, mumbling, "Right... not asking."

When the last student ("Xanatos, Amelia.") was sorted into her appropriate House ("RAVENCLAW!"), the entirety of the Great Hall broke out into a smatter of applause, the older students looking quite relieved that the first feast of a new year was soon to be underway. The Headmaster, smiling jovially, waved his arms in grandfatherly exuberance as he made his opening statement.

"Welcome to students both old and new," the man said before clapping his wizen hands together; almost immediately, a spread unlike any other filled all of the tables as numerous delicious smells wafted around the Hall. "Now let's chow down!"

Students and staff alike took the man by his words, immediately turning to their eagerly anticipated meal. Zechs paused only long enough to glance to the Headmaster, wondering just what kind of youth Albus Dumbledore was so informal as to utter the words "chow down" with a straight face, and why his former Headmaster couldn't have been so lenient in his words.

----------

"I'm starting to get the suspicious feeling that the Lightning Count could quite possibly be in an official position to boss Heero Yuy around," Duo said gravely, staring down at his previously anticipated scrumptious meal mournfully, highly saddened by his sudden lack of appetite. "We are _doomed_."

Ron, clearly not as affected by the possibility as Duo, mumbled thickly around a generous amount of roasted chicken, "Lightning Count?"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said sternly, "could you at least swallow first?"

The redhead shot his girlfriend an annoyed scowl before he obediently swallowed. "Better?" the youngest Weasley son sniped sarcastically.

"Much," she replied primly, satisfied with the progress (even if Ron was just patronizing her; at least he was listening). "The Lightning Count was the nickname for Zechs Marquise, OZ Special Forces' best mobile suit pilot and the right-hand man of General Trieze Khushrenada." She stared hard at Duo before continuing incredulously, "Are you telling me that Prince Milliardo _Peacecraft_ and Zechs Marquise is the same person?"

"Wait," Harry blurted, snapping his gaze up from his plate to stare at Hermione in shock. "That guy is a _prince_?"

"Wicked," Ron breathed, staring in the direction of the Head Table in awe.

"Calm down, children," Duo said mildly. "Ron, don't call him His Highness. He hates that. Harry, he's prince in name only -his younger sister is the official heir to Sanq, and he prefers it that way. Yes, Mione, they're one in the same. It's why he's a Preventer now -once you go soldier, it's kind of hard to shake the instincts." Satisfied that he'd answered all of their questions, he said politely, "Pass the peas, please." After all, even if he didn't feel like eating didn't mean he should go about skipping meals.

Sensing that Duo wasn't interested in explain the matter a little more explicitly, Hermione decided to pursue another avenue of interest. "I wonder what he'll be doing here? The only thing he can conceivably teach is Muggle Studies..."

"I doubt he'll do that," Duo said dryly. "Too boring. Zechs is like Heero -he wouldn't be able to stand the tedious misrepresentation of muggle culture. Besides, the current Muggle Studies teacher is still on staff."

"But what else could he do?" Ron wondered absently.

"Good question," the American replied, eagerly snapping up a dessert when the meal disappeared, only to be replaced by every sweet dish imaginable. "Dumbledore usually makes announcements like that after the feast, so we'll probably hear about it then." Not that Duo didn't intend to pay a little visit to Zechs after the students were dismissed for the evening. They did have several unanswered questions that didn't pertain to Hogwarts inasmuch as Zechs' presence at a school for magic. To be more specific -what had been planned that involved the former Gundam pilots that said pilots didn't know about.

True to tradition, as soon as the last student had his fill of dessert and the tables were cleared of all dishes, Dumbledore called for attention by tapping his fork against the crystal glass from which he drank as he slowly came to his feet.

"A delicious feast befitting the beginning of a new school year," the Headmaster said jovially, his voice echoing loudly around the Great Hall, reaching every student's ears. "As I'm sure you've all noticed, we have several new additions to the staff today-"

"Yes!" came an exuberant exclamation from the Slytherin table, followed by a crow of, "Eye candy!"

Dumbledore paused as several female students broke into pleased titters. "Sirius Black will be filling the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Working in close relation with Professor Black is Agent Milliardo Peacecraft, who will be teaching a new course we recently added to the curriculum -Muggle Defense. I hope you will all take this opportunity to improve not only your physical well-being, but perhaps your way of thinking, as well."

Most students applauded sudden development; others remained stubbornly silent and still. The purebloods on either side of the fence clearly had their doubts as to how a class touting Muggle Defense would be of any use to them, seeing as how wizards were not defenseless muggles. Wizards had _magic_ -what could muggles have that could be superior to that?

"The first mistake is always underestimating a potential threat," Wufei muttered scathingly when he overheard Terry Boot asking this very same question to his equally pureblooded counterpart. "As much as I hate to admit, this will probably be good for the purebloods."

Mandy Brocklehurts was far more enthusiastic about the new curriculum for entirely different reasons. "Can you imagine Parkinson or Brown or Parvati Patil doing anything that requires strict physical discipline? Oh, God, I hope I'm in a paired class!"

----------

Zechs hadn't lingered in the Great Hall long after the students were dismissed for the evening. After making plans with Black to meet with the man early the next morning to map out corresponding syllabi -an attempt that would more than likely take most of the weekend to complete -he excused himself for the night and went straight to the suite provided to him by the Headmaster.

The teacher's quarters consisted of four richly decorated rooms; a master bedroom with a canopy bed stained a rich maple color, a private bathroom, a private office, and a den with antique, well-preserved furniture comfortably situated around a large, ornate marble fireplace. His only complaint about the room was the large portrait of a decadently dressed brunette who happened to have been painted in what appeared to be the library. Most of her attention tended to be solely on a book she'd pulled off of the shelf behind her; sometimes she would even disappear from the frame, only to eventually return with a new book in hand.

When she _did_ pay attention to him, she would insist on discussing things he knew nothing about -things that involved magic and magical history. When she realized his ignorance, she decided to rectify his unfamiliarity with the magical world by explaining everything she spoke of, her attitude bordering on haughty conceit.

If this was going to be a habit, he was going to relocate the portrait inside the fireplace, light a fire, and plead ignorance should anybody question its whereabouts.

He'd just removed the uncomfortable outer robe he had been required to wear to the Sorting Feast when there was a slow, measured knock on the entrance to his suite. The prim lady in the portrait glanced up curiously from the book in her lap when Zechs went to the entrance and prompted it open. The seemingly blank wall folded back in on itself until a doorless entryway appeared in its place.

"Students aren't supposed to be in here," the lady in the portrait said primly. Zechs spared her an irritated glance before the wall folded closed after the last pilot filed in.

_01, 02, 03, 05..._ "Where's Winner?"

"Good question," Maxwell mused, glancing questioningly at Barton.

"He had some business to take care of," Barton explained blandly.

Maxwell snorted caustically. "Uh-huh. On a scale from one to ten -how bad is this Smith guy going to get it?"

Zechs' eyebrows rose in interest. He was no fool -the Winner boy was in possession of a wicked ruthless streak when the situation called for it. He also knew Winner wouldn't be foolhardy enough to actively harm a civilian in a world where his slate had been wiped clean.

"Depends on which scale we're talking about," Trowa replied solemnly.

"Surprise me," Maxwell said, obviously amused.

"On a bloodlust scale: three."

"Okay," Maxwell said approvingly, nodding his head agreeably. "Not bad. Certainly not good, but not bad."

Barton spoiled the illusion when he continued offhandedly, "On the retribution scale: nine."

Maxwell's carefully erected optimism crumbled under a painful cringe. "Ouch. No good can come of this."

Barton, taking on the role of the optimist, pointed out calmly, "On the bright side, it's not bad enough that Quatre wants to maim him. And years of extensive therapy should take care of any lingering mental and emotional trauma."

... That was the _bright side_?

"Oh, and that's such a bright light at the end of the tunnel, isn't it?" Maxwell said sarcastically, his arms falling to his sides as he rolled his eyes. "You forgot the Quatre-shaped bullet train attached to that light."

"Hm," Barton hummed, giving Zechs the impression that he hadn't forgotten said Quatre-shaped bullet train as much as he'd simply neglected to mention it. With a pointed glance at Zechs, he murmured, "Going back to the matter at hand..."

Ah. Just as Zechs expected.

It was Yuy that waged the question on all of their minds. "What are you doing here?"

"Relena and Lady Une sent me," Zechs answered truthfully as he moved to seat himself next to the fireplace, a large fire merrily flickering in the hearth. "Relena's fascinated with the wizarding world -she wishes to learn more about it. Une, on the other hand, is a little more concerned about the five of you."

"Why?" Wufei demanded, welcoming himself to the seat directly across from Zechs. The other three pilots remained standing, obviously on guard.

"Why not?" Zechs parried with a knowing smirk. "The last time we were here, one of you got into a bit of trouble. She's uncertain as to how seriously the faculty at Hogwarts would take you in the state of a real emergency. I'm here to aid you if you need it."

"This could be useful," Barton mused.

"Aw," Maxwell grinned saucily, "and we didn't get Une anything."

"And the Muggle Defense class?" Wufei inquired, a little less hostile now that Zechs' intentions were clear. "Who's idea was that?"

"Mine," Zechs replied, shrugging. "I needed a reason to be here. The Headmaster was open to the idea, but the only course I could possibly teach would have been Muggle Studies, and I shudder to imagine wasting my time explaining the basic function of a toaster." That would have been sheer _hell_.

Maxwell snickered devilishly at the very thought. "Good move. Most of these kids wouldn't have a clue what to do if they lost their wands."

"What would we be doing in your class?" Yuy grunted, obviously disturbed by Zechs position of authority; they had been, after all, enthusiastic rivals from their very first meeting. Zechs wasn't at all surprised by the Japanese pilot's wariness.

Zechs was probably going to make Yuy's day when he said, "None of you are required to attend."

"Sweet!" Maxwell crowed. "Free period!"

"However," Zechs said meaningfully, smothering a smirk when the American cursed under his breath, "you still need to earn credit for the class. Some of the teachers were rather indignant that I wouldn't force the five of you to attend, even though I assured them that it would be a waste of our time."

"Snape," Maxwell muttered, pouting. "Grouchy git."

Zechs didn't deny the accurate accusation. "I suggested that you five sacrifice at least one free period a week to help me teach some of my classes; after all, nothing would impress a student more than watching a competent demonstration by two instead of one. Dumbledore decided that was acceptable, as long as the five of you agreed to it. Otherwise, you'll have to attend Muggle Defense like everyone else."

"Teacher aids, huh," Maxwell murmured, absently stroking the length of his braid. "It's better than the alternative... and it's only one free period a week."

"We'll discuss it with Quatre when we have a chance," Yuy said tonelessly. "We'll have to leave now if some of us want to return to our dorms before curfew." The Wing pilot glanced particularly at Barton and Maxwell. Zechs vaguely recalled 02 and 03 were the only former Gundam pilots that had not become prefects, who were allowed -encouraged, even- to linger the halls after curfew to search for students who were late returning to their dorms.

Wufei raised an eyebrow, appearing vaguely amused. "Should one of us look for Winner?"

"Um..." Maxwell started with a reluctantly guilty grin. "No, I have a feeling I'm going to need to establish an alibi."

"He can take care of himself," Trowa agreed, following Yuy to the door.

"I bet," Maxwell said dryly before turning to Yuy with an impish smirk. "So, honey... gonna escort me to my lonely tower now or what?"

Wing's pilot considered his over-the-top companion for only a silent second before, without taking his eyes off of Deathscythe's pilot, he said to Barton, "I'll meet up with you later."

Barton nodded in silent understanding, a reserved smile of amusement the only crack in his stoicism. Chang rolled his eyes and said, rather irritably, "For my sake and the sakes of the other prefects, don't let Granger catch you two fornicating in the hallway. Otherwise, the rest of us will have to listen to that woman lecture about responsibility and setting examples and whatever drivel she decides to natter about in the meeting tomorrow morning."

"Please," Maxwell scoffed as Yuy, instead of taking the Gryffindor's offered elbow, threaded his war-calloused fingers through Duo's and began tugging the American out of Zechs' suite. "As if we'd ever get caught. G'night, Wuffers!"

"That's Wu_fei_, Maxwell!" Shenlong's pilot growled loudly; his only response was faint laughter that echoed throughout the cavernous corridor that the two pilots disappeared into.

"By now," Barton said helpfully as he and Chang turned the corner, leaving Zechs to close the entrance behind them, "you must realize that he's never going to listen to you."

"Even I'm allowed to hope, Barton," Chang muttered darkly just before the wall folded closed. After he was safely out of sight, Zechs finally allowed a wide smirk to grace his features. If interaction between the pilots was going to be that amusing all year around, maybe accepting Relena and Une's proposal wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

----------

With the dark, cavernous corridor stretching into the inky darkness before them, nothing but the muffled sounds of their shoes almost inaudibly echoing in the comfortable silence, Duo pondered on what it was like returning to Hogwarts. The event itself was a rarity, as he couldn't remember ever actually "returning" to a boarding school after leaving it for an extended period of time. It was perhaps one of the more obvious indications of just how much his life -their lives -had changed once the wizarding world had opened up to them almost one whole year ago. Then again, his one-year "I'm a what now?" anniversary had already passed, though the same could not be said for his comrades.

He honestly liked his new life. No longer did they require their many aliases (though they were handy to keep around for emergencies), nor did they find need to worry about missions (unless they were self-appointed for a good cause), wars (... okay, that was pushing it...), and the Earth Sphere Alliance. While the drastic change (hardly) in lifestyles did have several key low points, even Duo had to admit that the gains far outweighed the whole new set of problems. He had Heero, his comrades, and new friends, most of which trusted him to an extent. His life was the best it had ever been.

He just wasn't sure how long the novelty would last. He hoped to live out the rest of his life with no regrets; his inner pessimist enjoyed stomping all over that hope with metal-spiked cleats.

"It's almost surreal, being back here," Duo said finally, his voice oddly subdued by his warring thoughts and feelings.

"Hn."

_Okay. New tactic._

"I mean," Duo backtracked airily, "after sequestering ourselves in Draco's fancy manor for so long... it almost felt like old times."

Heero was silent. Duo was certain his lover knew exactly what he was trying to say, but he continued his one-sided chat anyway. "I kind of like being back." He paused. "Old times... they were good. Mostly hectic, sometimes really terrible, but I wouldn't trade it for the world."

"Even so," Heero finally murmured, "a time best left in the past."

Duo smiled ruefully, glancing curiously at his companion from the corner of his eye. "We're not doing such a bad job at this normal thing considering the circumstances... right?"

"I think we're doing well," Heero replied quietly, allowing a short hesitation before he added, "considering the circumstances."

Duo gave his boyfriend a warm smile, inwardly pleased that Heero's agreement alleviated most of his niggling worries. Playfully, he added, "Good. So no reverting to Perfect Soldier-boy for you. It's a real downer when Heero Yuy can't muster one of his rare smiles because he's too busy calculating the risks of taking a bite of food on the chance that some disgruntled house elf poisoned it -or whatever imagined danger fuels your adorably over the top paranoid delusions-"

Heero's feet suddenly came to a standstill; so abrupt was this that the chattering American only stopped because of their joined hands. Blinking, Duo cast a questioning glance down at Heero from over his shoulder. Thoughtful Prussian blue eyes met his, as if Heero was systematically decoding his lover's own form of verbal encryption in order to better understand what was the deeper meaning behind Duo's words. The Gryffindor would not have been surprised if that was exactly what Heero was doing.

"Hee-chan?" Duo prompted, tilting his head to the side questioningly.

Finally reaching a conclusion, Heero's face hardened in resolution before he stepped upward to the next stair to meet Duo at eye level. The Japanese boy firmly rested his right hand on Duo's hip (his left hand still entwined at the fingers with the braided boy's) before, pressing against Duo's body, he swopped forward and stole a lingering, softly passionate kiss that left Duo weak at the knees, his brain fogging up in blissful euphoria, effectively slowing any and every thought zooming along the multiple tracks to a crawl. By the time Heero pulled away, Duo was still wordless and breathless. Upon the prolonged silence, Heero seemed oddly satisfied.

"Okay," Duo finally agreed, far too dazed to consider what he was even agreeing to. Or, in this case, that there was nothing to agree to.

"Duo," Heero said, obviously amused if the slight lifts at the corners of his mouth was anything to go by, "I didn't say anything."

Oh. "Oh. What?" Finally the fog of euphoria lifted, and Duo blinked rapidly at his now blatantly smiling boyfriend. The smile was almost enough to bring the fog back; good _God_, that smile...

"Not that I minded that lovely show of affection," Duo said mildly, "but would you mind explaining to me _why_ bringing up your paranoia earned me a kiss?" With a short pause, he added wickedly, "Oh, there's that word again. Following your logical deduction, I get another sugar, sugar."

"Hm," Heero hummed in amusement. Sobering slightly, the Slytherin said quietly, "Someone once told me to always follow my emotions."

"Wise words," Duo said; there was no doubt in his mind who he could thank for Heero's pearl of wisdom. J had been too much of a crotchy bastard to have encouraged Heero to do much in the way of feeling; though Heero rarely spoke of the assassin that raised him, Odin Lowe was the only other person that could have influenced Heero so greatly for the Slytherin to take such advice to heart. "So your emotions were channeling classic Disney love songs? 'Just kiss 'de boy?'"

"More like that you needed reassurance," Heero replied, completely serious. "We both know I'm not very good at verbally expressing myself. I decided to approach in a manner I'm comfortable with."

"Can't go wrong with a Heero kiss," Duo agreed amiably, his heart melting under the incredible heat of love and adoration. Socially stunted or not, _God_, he had such a sweet boyfriend... in his own way. "Speaking of Heero kisses," Duo purred, looking at his lover through thick, lowered eyelashes, "I wouldn't say no to an encore."

Humming again in amusement, Heero leaned forward to oblige Duo's unsubtle request; likewise, the American began to meet his lover halfway. Just before their lips would connect, both hypersensitive teenage soldiers froze, tensing as they became aware of an approaching presence. They hadn't enough time to pull away from their tender embrace before Draco appeared at the top of the staircase, obviously just on his way back from Gryffindor Tower.

Taking in the sight of the entwined figures halfway down the staircase, Draco smirked knowingly and drawled, "Just so you know, it's almost two minutes until curfew."

The snobby brat was probably jealous that they were getting some action, Duo thought spitefully, groaning quietly in frustration as he bowed his head and laid his face on Heero's broad shoulder. "This House thing is going to _suck_," he mumbled moodily, his words muffled against the collar of Heero's robes.

Pressing his lips chastly against the side of Duo's head, Heero vowed confidently, "We'll find ways around it. We always do."

Now grinning uncontrollably, Duo lifted his head with renewed spirits. The Gryffindor noisily kissed the side of Heero's face before reluctantly pulling from his lover's embrace. He tightened his fingers around Heero's marginally and finally broke their hands apart to continue up the stairs, intent to make it to his dormitory before Hermione had a reason to scold him. "Night, Hee-chan."

"Oyasumi, koi," the other responded, watching as Duo walked away from him.

Oh, yeah. They were definitely going to find a way around conflicting schedules, House walls, and curfew. No doubt about that.

"Shameless deviants," Draco murmured slyly as Duo passed by him.

Without hesitating, Duo retorted airily, "Envious virgin."

Draco sniffed haughtily, turning his nose up at Duo's rejoinder. However, he made no reply, and Duo could only smirk smugly over his supposed victory.

_I rock so hard._

----------

The next morning for the recently appointed Head Boy and Head Girl was absolutely abysmal; and it was all the fault of Hurricane Quatre. At least, that's who Draco blamed, and he made damn sure the cheerful little demon know it through subtly delivered accusing glares across the Ravenclaw table. In return, Quatre would smile apologetically, though the cheerful tilt of his eyes lacked any real remorse.

After the fourth repeat of this nonverbal communication, Trowa said, completely out of the blue, "You have to admit, it's not _completely_ his fault."

"On the contrary," Draco gritted through his teeth in a vain attempt at keeping his temper in check, "he made a bad morning even worse. It's _completely_ his fault." But he knew what Trowa said was true, at least in the context of Draco's bad morning as a whole.

Not long into his late night rounds, the Head Boy had been checking the Astronomy Tower for illicit after-hours rendezvous when a sudden storm rolled in, bringing heavy winds that rattled the window panes with fat drops of rain; bright flashes of lightning lit up the entire sky milliseconds before thunderous booms echoed down as far as the lower levels of the dungeons. Unperturbed, Draco continued his rounds for an hour longer before he decided to finally call it a night.

The moment he was in the dungeons, he knew something was wrong. The dungeons were unquestionably Slytherin territory; as a Slytherin, years of prolonged exposure to the damp, cold, stagnant (or drafty, depending on which area of the dungeons one would be referring to) atmosphere had given him an immunity to such bleakly miserable conditions. On the opposite side of the spectrum, there were some unfortunate Slytherins who would become rather ill all year around, suffering frequent chronic chest colds and lung infections. Of the number, Gregory Goyle and Daphne Greengrass were two examples. Meanwhile, Draco hardly even noticed the unfavorable conditions, so when the thickly soggy, heavy air was palpable, Draco had reason to worry. It slid along his exposed skin, sank into the fabric of his robes, and caused his nostrils and sinuses to sting painfully.

He cursed harshly, knowing exactly what the problem was. The last time the dungeons flooded was in Draco's third year. The Slytherin prefects at the time did as much as they could to take care of the flooding on their own, as neither of the seventh year prefects had the privilege to know the other Houses' passwords, nor did they know the Headmaster's password. Even worse, Professor Snape couldn't be found, and the flooding grew too great for six prefects to handle, forcing them to recruit every member of Slytherin House to help minimize the damage.

And it was happening again. This time, however, the Head Boy was a Slytherin; unlike the prefects, he _did_ know the other Houses' passwords, and he wasn't above spoiling everybody's night.

Pansy, Heero, and the other four prefects were obviously already aware of the matter, as they were already gathered in the Slytherin common room when he breezed in, immediately taking charge.

"Graham, Angelica," he addressed the two prefects curtly, "head to Ravenclaw and gather the prefects. The password is astrophysics. Mark and Zelda, same with the Hufflepuff prefects. Their password is fortuna minor. Pansy, I need you to gather some volunteers and arrange for the Slytherins to relocate to the Great Hall for the night; the conditions are too deplorable to chance the entire House falling ill. Heero, you need to make sure Professor Snape is aware of what's going on and start looking for the source. I'll brave Gryffindor territory."

"Wow," Pansy said, suitably impressed. "The man has a plan."

It had taken all night to locate and isolate the leak; only the lowest level of the dungeons had been affected, though almost the entire level was under water. Draco and Hermione were too busy organizing clean-up with the teachers to notice a slight irregularity with the Hufflepuff prefects.

Susan Bones, however, did notice. "Has anyone seen Zacharias Smith?"

Quatre, the picture of innocence and sincerity, replied, "Not since last night."

"That boy," Susan huffed in exasperation before flagging down one of the fifth year prefects to order her to retrieve Zacharias pronto. The fifth year returned fifteen minutes later and reported that Smith was nowhere to be found.

His stomach sinking in horror-stricken suspicion, Draco flickered an apprehensive glance toward Quatre. The Winner heir met his glance was an air of equanimity.

Damn.

The faculty, however, feared that a missing student could have been the work of Death Eaters. Quatre innocently suggested that Zacharias could have gotten lost somewhere in the dungeons. They were, after all, extensive, dimly lit, and hard to navigate. Draco noticed that Quatre made it _implicitly_ clear that he was only suggesting possibilities that were far more logical than Death Eaters slipping by unnoticed. Though they had already had a long night, the teachers and _most_ of the prefects reluctantly agreed that the only way to confirm this possibility was if they immediately searched the entirety of Hogwarts, top to bottom, inside and out. As soon as the flooding was dealt with, search parties were arranged; to increase their chances of finding Smith before their entire morning was utterly wasted, each House representative went back to their House dormitories and recruiting all of the seventh years for stupid Hufflepoof hunting (as Draco bitterly thought of it). It wasn't until four in the morning when Harry, exhausted and fed up with their lack of success, finally decided to call on the Marauder's Map for aid.

"You couldn't have thought of this earlier?" Draco griped sourly when he and Harry sneaked into the Gryffindor dorms to retrieve the map.

Harry didn't acknowledge Draco's snipe. "There," he pointed at his map. Then, clearly bemused, he revealed, "He's on the Quidditch pitch."

Knowing now where to focus their search (and Harry vehemently insisting that no one find out about the map), they gathered groups of seventh years under the guise of sweeping the grounds and combing the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Draco, Harry, Quatre, and Pansy were the ones who found Zacharias Smith. It was the _condition_ they found him in that most of them hadn't been expecting. His ankle manacled to the goal post, a dull butter knife tightly clenched in one trembling fist, a crinckled slip of parchment in the other, Smith had apparently worked himself into a blind panic attack if his heavy, labored, fast-paced panting was anything to go by.

Taking the initiative, Draco swept forward and kneeled on the wet sand with a displeased grimace. He reached out and methodically pried the note safely from the younger Hufflepuff's stiff fingers, hardly sparing Smith a mildly reproachful glance. Once the parchment was free, Draco read the curt, mercilessly impartial message.

_You've been poisoned. You have  
__one hour to administer the  
__antidote which can be found  
__in a sealed container next to  
__your spleen._

_X marks the spot._

_Happy hunting._

_Fantastic._ Grimacing once more, Draco reluctantly took it upon himself to lift the hyperventilating prefect's pajama shirt; just as the note had promised, there was a noticeably bold black X precisely where one's spleen would be located.

Raising an eyebrow, the Slytherin threw a long, searching stare at Quatre, calculating the risks of the mild-mannered blond going so far as to poison a student for such a tame offense as insulting the blond's boyfriend. He decided it was unlikely, judging by Quatre's lack of guilt. In fact, all things considering, the Hufflepuff seemed rather... perky.

"Pans, go find Professor Snape. Tell him to bring a poison detection potion. For the sake of the spirits, Smith, pull yourself together. You're only embarrassing yourself."

One poison detection potion later, Snape declared Smith poison-free. Obviously still unsettled by the presumed attempt on his life (perhaps "unhinged" was a more accurate description for Smith's state of mind), he was bounced off to St. Mungo's for a forty-eight hour psychiatric evaluation. The Healers were optimistic that Smith would be able to attend some of his more mundane, blatantly unhostile classes after he returned to Hogwarts, perhaps picking up more classes as the weeks went along. This ruled out Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Muggle Defense, and (probably) Charms.

Sprout was vehement in her belief that it was the work of "that Maxwell demon, mark my words!" She even went as far as publically accusing the baffled Gryffindor in front of the entire Great Hall during breakfast. "The Headmaster says there's no proof -but I'll be watching you, Maxwell!" the hysterical woman ranted before stalking out of the Hall to motherly hover at her heavily sedated student's bedside.

Stunned and despondent, Duo plaintively asked the silent students staring at him with wide, wary eyes, "Why do _I_ always get blamed?"

No one could provide an answer. Not one that would have made Duo any happier, at any rate.

"Technically, you should be blaming Smith," Heero said logically, interrupting Draco's mental recount of his disastrous first night (and morning) as Head Boy. "It wouldn't have happened if he hadn't upset 04."

Ah. 04. Silly muggle lingo Draco didn't even really want to understand. The numerical designations the others sometimes referred to themselves by when there was a chance they'd be overheard, from what Draco understood, had more to do with colony representation than any sort of rank.

"He's too busy sleeping it off in the psych ward for me to glare at him," Draco said snidely. "'04' is the secondary physical representation of my displeasure. Just let me stew."

Trowa shrugged passively, calmly continuing with his meal.

Then, ever so quietly, Heero murmured curtly, "We go tonight." Draco didn't need to ask what Heero was implying.

The Slytherin fan-boy that dwelled within him squealed in fanatic delight._ Chamber of Secrets, here we come_!

_**END CHAPTER TEN**_

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**(1) Karim Quraishi has absolutely nothing to do with the fic other than to have an interesting character to pit Draco against in Lingering Interludes. (You'll see why I think he's an interesting character later.) I'm not fond of original characters, and I tend to throw them out and discard them without much of a thought. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if I just mentioned him occasionally as time progresses. I'm weird like that. And if you know where I got the name from, you get a cookie. :grins:**


	11. The Chamber's Greatest Secret

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ah, the success of author's guilt. Be nice and review, please; I'm probably going to hate the world when I have to suffer at work tomorrow because I stayed up way passed my bedtime to finally get this darling little chapter out. Rest assured, however, that I'll always have a tender place in my heart for reviewers. :_flutters eyelashes innocently_:**

**To prove to you that I haven't been sitting around with a thumb up my butt in regards to this story, I'd like to point out that I have parts of chapters twelve and seventeen already written, as well as most of chapters thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen completed. I also have a good portion of the epilogue written somewhere. Trust me; I'm in this for the long haul. I just write completely out of order. :grins: Hey, whenever the mood strikes, I always say...**

**One tiny little favor. Please, if I happen to write and post something that has nothing to do with this story line, don't mention HPatFH when or if you review. While I appreciate all of my reviewers making the effort to review in the first place, and the mentioning of "when are you going to post the next chapter of HPatFH?" doesn't necessarily make me angry or upset, it's a tad bit annoying to blow steam on a different project only to be reminded that there was a reason I deviated from this fic in the first place. Burning out on a fic isn't something I intend to do, and if I don't explore other avenues for my muse occasionally, I'll explode. (God, I feel like a git for being stickler over this, but there ya go.)**

**Anyway, without further adieu -Onward!**

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_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Eleven**_

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The moment Draco woke, disoriented and hellishly groggy, he was instantly aware of a warm body pressing flush against his back. There was also a tanned arm wrapped loosely around his waist. He had neither the willpower nor the energy to assume the worst and react accordingly, and to be completely honest, he wouldn't have had the inclination to act first and ask questions later even if Bellatrix Lestrange had crawled into bed with him.

Wufei surely would have been disappointed if he ever found out; at that moment, however, Draco was simply too damn tired to care. He just wanted to go back to sleep. _Nngh. Tired..._

Slowly but surely the memories of his late night and early morning troubles pierced the dull fog that encompassed his brain, and with those bitter memories came the recollection of why he was still abed at sixteen minutes passed four in the afternoon, as well as the identity of the person snuggling into his back.

Just before breakfast was over, Draco excused himself from company, the throbbing pressure behind his eyes and around his temples clear signs of a terrible headache born of extreme irritation and recent sleep deprivation. Harry, the blond recalled, had followed him not long after Draco left the Great Hall, catching up with the former Malfoy heir in the proximity of Severus Snape's Potions classroom.

Without exchanging so much as a word, Draco silently led the Gryffindor into the bowels of the dungeons, only sparing a curt verbal prompt for the Slytherin House's inner sanctum to open up to them. His feet dragging, Draco (Harry still silently following behind him) trudged up to his (thankfully) private Head Boy chamber, threw himself onto his four poster bed after shedding his robes, and stuffed his head under his fluffy pillow with a pained moan.

And, still saying nothing, Harry had crawled into bed and held Draco until the blond, sighing, instantly fell into a self-induced coma, comforted by something as simple as being held.

"Spirits, we're such a sappy pair," Draco mumbled, proud that his groggy slur was hardly noticeable.

Harry snickered quietly, his hot breathe ghosting over the back of Draco's neck. "Nice nap, though."

No argument there. "Fantastic nap. Now I can successfully resist the urge to kill that evil fiend Quatre for depriving me of a full eight-hour sleep."

Harry inhaled sharply, blurting, "You don't think _Quatre_-?" The Gryffindor cut himself off for a moment before mumbling, "What am I saying? Of course it was Quatre. Duo couldn't have masterminded something that cruel."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that," Draco murmured, instantly recalling the cheerful American's sweet crooning as he methodically (and gleefully) toyed with the minds and emotions of those idiot muggles to whom Harry had once been condemned. The memory brought a smug smirk to Draco's lips.

"I don't even want to know what Duo did to inspire such a look," Harry mumbled, having raised his head to originally glance at the Tempus on the Head Boy's bedside table, only to be distracted by his boyfriend's smirk. Once the time -now twenty-one minutes after four -registered to Harry's sleep fogged brain, he groaned and flopped back into a prone position, tightening his arm around Draco's waist as he buried his face against the blond's back. "I was supposed to meet Hermione and Ron twenty minutes ago."

Draco grinned lewdly. "Tell them you were... tied up."

Harry, to Draco's knowledge, didn't catch the innuendo; on that matter, Draco didn't really believe Harry would have understood what the blond was implying even before he made the comment. _Naive Gryffindor_...

He wouldn't have Harry any other way, as much as it privately disgusted Draco to admit even to himself. _Face it, Draco... You're a sap. Ugh._

"Somehow, I don't think Hermione will accept that as an appropriate excuse," Harry said dryly, reluctantly pulling away from Draco as he sat up in bed. The Gryffindor stretched languidly, emitting a kittenish mewl of relief when his shoulders audibly popped as he raised his arms to the ceiling. "She thinks I don't take the story of my life seriously enough as it is."

"That's because Granger has a stick wedged so far up her-"

"Draco!" Harry snapped.

Undeterred, the blond Slytherin continued, "-that it can be mistaken as a secondary spine. What? You know it's true." Draco scowled, turning his head away from Harry's reproving stare to glower at the wall. "She's so bloody anal that she has to be in control of everything, even to the extent that she has to have the last word on who should be involved in your life and who shouldn't, no matter that person's relationship with you. Tell me, Harry, do you honestly blame me for being a tad bit more frustrated with her than usual?"

"That's what this is about?" Harry asked softly, his voice no longer projecting his ire.

"Of course that's what this is about! What's the running theme of your life, Harry?" Draco muttered bitterly. "Voldemort and the Philosopher's Stone, the basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets, escaped convicts and pets that turn out to be Death Eaters, the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Voldemort trying to manipulate you into doing his bidding! Almost every year you find yourself in another life-threatening situation, and you expect me to be complacent with not knowing what's going on this time?" He snorted derisively. "Not bloody likely."

Yes, part of Draco's lingering foul mood had a lot to do with his boyfriend's refreshed pursuit of dangerous (and possibly fatal) adventures; more to the point, he was upset that he had been summarily kicked to the curb as soon as Granger had the chance to curtly dismiss him, snatching Harry by the collar and dragging him down the corridor of the train under the obviously fabricated excuse that his Gryffindor boyfriend and his boyfriend's friends had 'a lot to catch up on.' Draco probably wouldn't have been as irritated if Shacklebolt hadn't delivered that odd letter to Harry after the conclusion of that obscenely long prefects' meeting. He definitely hadn't liked it when Harry, in a state of befuddled excitement, had shown Granger the contents of the letter before she dragged the green-eyed boy down the corridor, with Harry smiling at him apologetically over his shoulder.

"You're always pessimistic about my so-called hero complex," Harry explained after a moment's hesitation. "I thought you wouldn't want to be involved..."

"I've resigned myself to the idea that you'll never get over the Gryffindor hero thing," Draco grumbled petulantly. "That doesn't mean I don't want to know what's going on, nor does it mean I don't want to help if I can." _And be in a position to stop you from doing anything monumentally stupid without first thinking things through_, he added mentally. The downfall of the Gryffindor Complex was that those that hailed from that House had a tendency to react without strategy, after all.

As if a light flickered to life, Harry's eyes widened, his face breaking out into an eager grin. "There is a way you can help," the green-eyed boy said, almost reverently as he scooted closer to Draco. "I mean, if you really want to."

"Don't you have to consult with Granger and that Weasel of yours?" Draco said with residual bitterness, most of his irritation quickly forgotten when he suddenly became very aware of the heat Harry's body was emanating. The former Malfoy heir... felt like snuggling. _He's like a bloody human safety blanket_, the blond thought in horrified fascination. One part of him really wanted to give in, to rest his head on Harry's shoulder and cuddle as his boyfriend went on about what fool adventure Draco could blindly throw himself into like a bloody Gryffindor. The other, more Slytherinesque part of him was sicking up noisily in the corner, nauseated by the warm and fuzzy feeling that only ever overcame Draco when Harry was involved.

"They'll understand," Harry said in dismissal, waving Draco's sarcasm to the side. "I mean, Ron might be a pureblood, but he doesn't know as much about noble lineages like you probably do."

Draco raised his eyebrows in interest. "Go on," he drawled, "I'm all ears." Sweet justice; Harry admitting that Draco could supply more aid than that loser Weasley made his day, even though he suspected Harry didn't quite view it that way. In any case, he was definitely in the mood to take on anything that involved noble genealogy; he made it his business to know the Who's Who of Pureblood Wizarding Society.

"I need you to help me find the Four Heirs of Hogwarts."

Anything but that.

"There's a prophecy," Harry went on, hardly pausing long enough to notice that Draco had gone completely still, unable to look in the Gryffindor's direction for fear the oblivious boy might actually notice how reluctant Draco was to fulfill Harry's request. "Better than the one Voldemort knows is stored in the Department of Mysteries. We don't know who wrote it -the man or woman who sent it to me signed 'The Oracle', and Hermione plans to research that alongside the ritual the prophecy mentioned... I'm getting way ahead of myself. Long story short, there's an ancient ritual, and we need the Four Heirs of Hogwarts to enact it. The prophecy said that was how Voldemort will be defeated."

Wait a minute. "The prophecy said?" Draco said doubtfully, his attention catching that small inconsistency. "The prophecy just... spelled it out? Do you have any idea how likely that this prophecy you randomly received through the post is even valid?" He pulled his knees closer to his chest, leaning forward slightly to rest his crossed arms on his raised knees and stared at his boyfriend. "Prophecies are vague for a reason -the future isn't set in stone. We can change the outcome of what's to happen through conscious and unconscious decisions every day."

"Even something at this magnitude?" Harry shot back, refusing to bend. "C'mon, Draco -even I'm somewhat aware that there is a huge difference between someone who can call himself a Seer and someone who has the knackers to call himself an Oracle.

_And this is the same Oracle_, Draco thought privately, _that told the Heir of Slytherin about the Chamber of Secrets -and addressed it to Duo personally._ As much as Draco hated to admit it, this new breed of detailed prophecy held a great deal of water, as far as validity went.

"Okay," Draco said finally, sighing in defeat. "I can see you aren't going to give up on this. We'll pretend there's a chance that you've finally found a way to turn the tides in our favor."

"How gracious of you," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Cheeky git. "So you want me to help you find the Heirs of Hogwarts," Draco drawled, narrowing his eyes to slits as he smirked smugly at Harry. "What's in it for me?"

Harry blinked. "Uh... Didn't you _want_ to be included?"

"There's a large difference between being included and doing something for nothing," Draco declared, his smirk widening daringly. "I can offer you a great deal of help, as I happen to know much more about lineages than the... _common_ pureblood." _Take that, weasel-boy_.

"Well, yes," Harry said evenly. "That's why I asked you to help me. You're the biggest pureblood freak I know."

Draco's smirk immediately fled, and he narrowed his eyes dangerously at Harry. _Pureblood 'freak'_?

Belatedly realizing that there was a chance that Draco would take great offense to the words he chose, he quickly attempted to amend himself by saying, "You know -American muggle slang. Means, uh, you're a specialist."

"It means," Draco said flatly, "'one who is obsessed.' And you're a terrible liar."

Harry had the grace to look mildly sheepish about his flimsy attempt to soothe his boyfriend being called for what it was -a flimsy lie set out to appease the blond. For a moment, the green-eyed Gryffindor appeared lost as to what he could offer that would appeal to his Slytherin boyfriend. Meanwhile, Draco was ready to make Harry's self-appointed task as difficult as possible. Oh, he'd eventually agree to do as the other asked -the Slytherin wasn't completely without scruples, and Harry deserved a little more consideration on the merit that he managed to put up with Draco's abrasive nature on a daily basis alone. After that 'freak' wisecrack, however, Draco certainly wasn't going to go easy on his boyfriend.

And then... Harry smiled.

Draco had an uneasy feeling that he was going to buckle a lot sooner than he intended.

"Has Duo ever told you," Harry began smugly, leaning ever so closer to Draco; more to the point, Draco's ear. His voice lowered to a husky whisper, he continued, "about an American muggle sport called baseball?"

Draco smothered the urge to visibly shift, his nerves on edge. He didn't know what some silly, vapid muggle sport had to do with the subject at hand, but Harry's warm breath ghosting over the shell of his ear suitably distracted the blond from making any derisive comment about the random American sport. "Uh, no."

"Well, they play it on the ground," Harry said, amused when Draco shivered as the green-eyed boy casually placed his hand on the Slytherin's thigh for balance. "The field is shaped like a diamond; on the four points of the diamond, there are bases. The goal of the game is for the player to start off on the first base -home base. The opposing team is spread out on the field at nine key positions, one of which happens to be the pitcher." Lips barely brushing against the shell of Draco's ear, Harry murmured, "Following me so far?"

"... Maybe," Draco floundered, not quite understanding where Harry was going with this baseball thing, though definitely not wanting to stall the green-eyed boy's approach to the matter.

"The pitcher," Harry continued, his hand trailing just a little higher up on Draco's thigh, "throws a ball that the player on home base is supposed to hit with a long piece of wood shaped like a slim Beater's bat. The batter's goal is to hit the ball as hard as he can. That goal accomplished, he immediately runs to first base before the opposing team can get the ball back to their teammate standing vigilant over first base.

"If the batter gets to first base safely," Harry finally concluded, his green-eyes glittering in amusement, "he wins a healthy snogging session. Draco, you're going to be that lucky batter when you find the first Heir."

For a moment, Draco forgot how to breathe.

"When you find the second Heir," Harry murmured saucily, "you get to second base. Now, second base incorporates naughty touches above the waist. Third Heir, third base. Clothes are optional by that point."

Oh, by the spirits...

"And the fourth Heir," Harry finally concluded, smirking slightly as he tilted his head to the side, his lips tantalizingly close to Draco's, "gets you back to home base. Score one point for the team, and score in a completely different way for you." And then, finally, Harry pressed his lips softly against the blond's mouth; Draco in no one inhibited Harry's tender exploration of lips and tongues, going as far as threading his long fingers through Harry's coal black hair, urging his boyfriend to deepen the kiss. Once the Gryffindor finally pulled back, panting slightly, the dark-haired boy leaned his forehead against Draco's, his eyes closed.

"Sound good to you?" Harry murmured.

"Uh-huh," Draco responded vaguely, nigh soundlessly as he was finding it a little more difficult to pull air into his lungs as he normally would.

Harry pulled back and smiled brightly. "Perfect," Harry said, kissing Draco soundly on the cheek before springing from the bed. He said cheerfully, already casually strolling for the door, "I've really got to go find Hermione and Ron before they send out the search party. I'll see you tomorrow morning, oka-Trowa!" the Gryffindor yelped, visibly startled when he opened the door to Draco's private room only to find the reserved Slytherin standing on the other side, his fist poised to knock.

"Oh," Harry said sheepishly. Trowa, eyebrow lifted knowingly, glanced at Harry before turning that casually interested look to Draco, disheveled and obviously dazed on the bed. "Hey, Trowa."

"Harry," Trowa greeted him simply, finally turning his visible green eye back to the Gryffindor. "Hermione and Ron are looking for you."

"We were tied up," Draco mumbled thoughtlessly; obviously still a little flustered by the happenings of before.

"I see," Trowa replied evenly, his one green eye dancing in merry amusement.

"Yeah, I should..." Harry pointed wordlessly, a little flustered at being caught doing something that could have been considered mildly devious. "Yeah..."

"Duo also wanted to borrow the Marauder's Map tonight," Trowa said casually.

"What? Oh. Sure," Harry said weakly, eager to leave. Just as he was slipping passed Trowa and through the open doorway, he paused and said suspiciously, "No one has pissing him off recently... right?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Trowa admitted. "It's most likely the result of Duo's typical hijinks. The non-Shinigami kind."

Ah. Best not to ask. "Okay. Yeah, he can borrow it."

Just as Harry hurried down the hall, he heard Draco exclaim in faint amazement, "For the sake of the spirits... I can't believe he just manipulated me using sex." Then, scandalized, "Trowa! Stop _laughing_, damn it! I'm freakishly turned on by this! Duo and Heero's devious ways are bloody contagious!"

Harry groaned in embarrassment. _Oh, God_...

He hoped Trowa was really good at keeping things that needed to be kept private... private. Then again, knowing Draco, the blond would probably find some way to spoil that whole privacy issue.

----------

Duo clearly hadn't any idea just how large a dead basilisk could be. Judging by how much the size of the skull dwarfed him, monster snakes were actually quite large.

"Wow," Duo said, breaking the somber silence with a low whistle of amazement. He swept ahead of the group huddled around the enormous skull, which stood almost three inches taller than Trowa, who was easily the tallest of them all. If the size of the skull wasn't proof enough of the enormity of the beast, the sheer length of what remained of the monster's scales would have cinched it. "That is one big dead snake."

"Which is only marginally better than one big live snake, at this point," Draco muttered darkly, slanting the fanged corpse a queasy glance as he gave the skeleton a wide berth once he'd decided he had stared at Slytherin's infamous monster long enough. As a Slytherin, he had a healthy appreciation for the animal representation of his House. This healthy appreciation, however, in no way extended to monstrous beasts that could kill a wizard just by looking at him.

"This place is massive," Quatre noted once he resolved to turn his attention away from the physical remains of the basilisk, instead focusing on the cavernous chamber they were in. "We must be at least a mile under the earth's surface."

"Half a mile under the lowest level of the dungeons, tops," Trowa agreed, wandering toward one of many small, dark tunnels -just wide enough in circumference to allow something as large as Slytherin's monster to slither through comfortably. "These tunnels could go on for miles more. All of this... just to house the basilisk?" The tone of the tall Slytherin's voice indicated that he had strong doubts that these chambers were nothing more than a cage for a treasured pet.

"No way," Duo said, agreeing with Trowa's implied doubt. "This is the Chamber of _Secrets_. Big bad beastie over there wasn't much of a secret, other than what breed of monster it was. Besides, anyone with the word 'Oracle' taped to their resume would at least know that the basilisk would be dead; this guy knew exactly who to address that letter to, after all." Eyes narrowed on the grotesque stone effigy of a sneering man, jaw gaping open in silent scorn, Duo added with certainty, "There's definitely something down here that we're meant to find."

"So let's get this search over with already," Draco said grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest with a small scowl. "In case it slipped your mind, none of us had much of a chance to rest up for an all-night exploration of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets."

Quatre easily ignored Draco's pointed glare in his direction. "We'll pair off into groups of two," Quatre finally decided, appearing slightly bothered about his chosen course of action. "The groups who brave the tunnels shouldn't travel through the network too erratically -either take all lefts or all rights, and remember to keep count of how many passages you find. One group should stay in the main chamber and look for any sign that Slytherin left more than his just basilisk behind."

"That'll be me and Hee-chan," Duo volunteered eagerly, smirking smugly at Draco. "Have fun in the creepy tunnels, dragon boy."

Not to be outdone (and slightly put out that he'd been beaten to staking claim to a territory he'd much rather explore than creepy narrow tunnels), Draco retorted spitefully, "Sounds more like a task for a hamster, hamster boy -after all, mindlessly crawling through tubes seems to be natural behavior for a rodent."

Duo snickered. "Touche, ferret."

Oh, hell. "I'm going to kill Weasley for telling you about that."

"Nuh-uh," Duo said smugly, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I promised Ron Heero's protection for any embarrassing information on you. The Weasley is set -set for life."

Draco, scowling, turned to confirm this with the Japanese Slytherin. Heero shrugged nonchalantly and said, rather matter-of-fact, "As long as Ron doesn't provoke you while hiding behind my back." Which just basically meant that Heero would defend Ron from the more underhanded methods of Draco's bitter vengeance, as long as Ron didn't flaunt the fact he had an unofficial bodyguard.

Draco sighed, though not defeated. Heero's position would just make the job of getting back at Weasley for the revelation of the whole 'Draco the Ferret' thing a lot more harder than it necessarily had to be.

"You're with me, Black," Wufei said gruffly, already heading toward one of the larger passages, the tip of his wand brightly lit after some prompting with the Spoken Word.(1) With a disdainful cringe, Draco muttered the same spell under his breath, lighting the tip of his wand as he vainly hoped that whatever creepy insect lay in wait within the tunnels hadn't gotten _too_ out of control since the predator at the top of the food chain perished.

----------

It wasn't long into their journey down one of the secluded passageways that literally networked throughout miles of underground that something caught Quatre's interest. Driven by instinct alone, he immediately paused in his tracks, his head cocked to the side as he listened for the peculiar, out-of-place sound that had caught his interest. The sound was distant and muffled, echoing along the passage and the passages that branched from the vein.

Trowa, however, was the first to question it. "A music box?"

After a few moments of silence, Quatre slowly shook his head. "No... It sounds like a little girl..." Frowning, he continued softly, "You don't think Myrtle?..."

They'd met Tom Riddle's unfortunate victim only half-an-hour ago, before Duo managed to hiss the command that revealed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets in Parseltongue after several failed attempts. Apparently, the snake tongue sounded very much like English to the American, and the boy had a difficult time attempting to access the second language (technically sixth, as Duo hadn't found out he could speak to snakes until Draco pointed it out to him when the American understood Nagini only seven months ago). Moaning Myrtle had earned her nickname; it didn't take long for the combined forces of Draco's scorn and Wufei's derision to drive the moping ghost into the cubicle that she died in, wailing miserably as she dove into the urinal.

"I don't think any power on this earth can convince that ghost to wander here," Trowa said confidently, so sure that he was correct in his assessment. "She's already miserable. This kind of atmosphere would only make her feel worse."

"You're right," Quatre murmured. "Doesn't really sound like Myrtle, either..." As the blond spoke, he was already continuing down the passage. He paused every few meters to assess whether the merry humming of a small child was becoming more pronounced or further away. The sound began to fade several minutes later, and Quatre turned abruptly as he followed the girl's humming back to where the volume peaked. Trowa allowed the little one to take the lead, knowing that Quatre would find the source of the sound with very little trouble.

Finally, Quatre stopped and paused in thought before he leaned his ear closer to a relatively unremarkable section of the stone wall. With an affirming nod, the Winner heir said, "There's a door here." With a frown, the little blond murmured absently to himself, "I wonder what the password could be..."

Though the wall was seamless, Trowa had no doubt that this was true. Zechs' suite, after all, was styled in much of the same manner. "Probably something in Parseltongue," Trowa said casually as he kneeled down to the left of the door, seemingly insensibly prodding at the stone at the bottom of the wall.

"Right," Quatre murmured in thoughtful agreement, "Parseltongue. Makes guessing passwords nearly impossible. Nifty, in this case, as the password does exactly what is intended to do -keeping people out." Then, with a questioning glance at his tall boyfriend kneeling on the damp passage floor, he asked quietly, "What are you doing?"

"Filch is a squib," Trowa said simply, unbending his long legs and walking around Quatre, only to kneel at the base of the wall and repeat his ministrations.

"You think so?" Quatre said, his tone blithe though the look he was giving his unknowing boyfriend was brimming with curiosity as to where the seemingly random topic of conversation was leading. "It explains why I never see him with a wand. He's always cleaning the muggle way too... I've always kind of respected him for that."

"He could do without the burning resentment for every student that walks the halls of Hogwarts," Trowa said evenly. "What I've noticed is that Filch needs to get around things like this in order to do his job as quickly and efficiently as he can. The Restricted Section has a door that slides to the side when Filch prods a button at the bottom; likewise..." He prodded a stone firmly, the hidden panel pressing into the wall seconds before a large archway melted from the wall, leaving an innocently simple wooden door in its place, "for any password protected door in Hogwarts."

"Of course," Quatre murmured, impressed. "And squibs and muggles can't get the password-protected entrances to respond to them anyway, even if they do have the password. It's the same with Zechs; he doesn't use a password, he simply prods at a portion of the wall." Then, with a smug sort of smile, Quatre gloated, "My boyfriend is a genius."

"'Observant' would have been an acceptable adjective," Trowa said with a small chuckle, rising to his full height with a casual brush of his knees. "It stands to reason that Slytherin would have a similar safety feature installed; Parseltongue happens to be very difficult to learn on a whim, and I doubt he'd take the time to teach anyone he would have trusted how to say his password. I like genius, though. Definitely has a good ring to it."

"It rings with truth," Quatre said, throwing a saucy grin over his shoulder just as he reached forward and pressed the latch of the door with his thumb. With a clean 'click', the door slowly swung open, revealing a sight that was quite different than the one either of them had been expecting. It was enough to put a pause on whatever leading quip Trowa could have shot back.

Finally, Trowa said, "Well, as far as evil lairs go... This certainly takes the cake."

'Evil lair' material, this secret room was not. In fact, it was more than just a mere room; the den was well lit, not only with a fireplace that immediately came to life as soon as the door opened, but numerous candles and lanterns that flickered to life along with the crackling flame in the hearth. There was a modest, though obviously cherished kitchen with a brick oven and an island set aside for food preparation, as well as a small breakfast nook tucked in front of large, circular windows that proudly displayed an expansive night sky, an apple orchard lit under the large, pale moon that centered the sky. Windows happened to be a theme throughout the domicile; it was like suddenly being transported to a homey, secluded cabin, away from all the stresses of the modern world.

The source of the humming was finally traced to the large portrait displayed above the fireplace mantle; it was a little girl in pale pink petticoats kneeling in a field of flowers on a cloudless day, the wind rustling the green leaves of the trees that surrounded the field as she merrily continued to hum, threading together endless strands of daisy-chains and completely oblivious to the two teenage boys looking on in awed silence.

"It really makes you wonder," Quatre said softly, "how much of Salazar Slytherin's personality has been skewed by history and rumor. I mean," the blond waved his hand to indicate the rather comfortable living area they were currently occupying, "this doesn't strike you as the kind of place an evil bigoted megalomaniac rests his laurels, does it?"

"There doesn't appear to be any bloody chains," Trowa said mildly, glancing around. "Not one rusty implement of torture in sight. Draco's going to be so disappointed."

Quatre laughed softly. "He can still hope that oven over there has seen a lot more action that didn't involve cooking, unless Slytherin happened to practice cannibalism."

"It's like you said," Trowa replied with a meaningful glance at the bright, cheery portrait above the mantle. "With this kind of evil lair, torture didn't seem to be Slytherin's style."

"I wonder what this portrait meant to him," Quatre mused after a moment of silent consideration; the silence, however, defeated by the little blonde girl cutting through the thick meadow of colorful flowers as she continued to hum merrily, a basket of freshly picked flowers held by the crook of one delicate elbow. "Its presence really uplifts the spirit; perhaps he really wasn't the evil tyrant he's portrayed to be."

"We'll probably never know," Trowa murmured. "If Draco has his way, no one will ever hear of the softer side of Salazar Slytherin. House pride and all of that."

"Mm," Quatre hummed in agreement. With a final lingering glance over the fascinating portrait, he slowly turned and said, "Let's go. Duo might be interested in what we've found."

Little did they know that Duo would soon find his hands full with something completely different.

Or, in this case, some_one_.

----------

Quatre and Trowa's group was not the only one that found something interesting, nor was Duo the only one to stumble across something foreign and vaguely interesting. Draco thought it was about time he and Wufei came to a point where he no longer had a reason to complain about the utter lack of anything special in the caverns the two of them had set out to explore only fifteen minutes previously.

"There's a light source ahead," Wufei said quietly, quickly glancing over his shoulder to check on Draco's status. The blond had apparently already noticed; his grey eyes were narrowed, gleaming with interest as he stared ahead at where the rounded passage began to emit a soft, yellow glow.

"Finally," Draco muttered darkly, cancelling the light at the tip of his wand with a quickly murmured, "_Nox_." While Wufei's wand still provided a generous source of light, the soft lighting ahead lit a path well enough on it's own. "We didn't circle around, did we?" After all, they could have followed the passage right back to the main cavern.

"No," Wufei said after a moment, shaking his head curtly. "I'm not that turned around. The passage didn't turn back in the direction from where we came. We definitely found something."

'Something' was exactly what they'd found. It was hard to put into words, how suddenly the unadorned corridor abruptly turned into a painted effigy of a forest path, surrounded on both sides by trees that seemed to extend for miles above them, the round ceiling of the cavern painted as the night sky above the surface; the soft glow of yellow blinking lights was because of nigh thousands of tiny little fireflies mingling and weaving through the trees.

Thoughtfully, Wufei placed his palm flat against the mural, his eyes narrowing when his suspicions were confirmed. "Looks like someone had fun turning these dark caves into something a little more worthwhile."

"Slytherin had _style_," Draco said smugly, awed as he traced his index finger along the path of an erratically flying firefly. "Seems a little too naturalistic, but wizards had a better appreciation for the glory that Gaea had to offer us back in his day."

"Hn," Wufei grunted, canceling his own light before he resolutely continued down the passage, followed closely by Draco. "Spirits and Gaea... One day, Black, you're going to have to explain the religious significance of these things."

"What's there to explain?" Draco said with a casual shrug of dismissal. "Gaea is the Mother of Creation; it's from her that all living things were created. The world of the spirits is our final address, and the ultimate destination of our honored ancestors. Wizards -purebloods, specifically -show reverence to that which bore us and to the world that will eventually house us in the afterlife."

"What do crosses have to do with Gaea and the spirits?" Wufei suddenly asked, turning to the side to slip through a small opening between the narrow passage and a large cavern that Draco could not quite make out around the Chinese Ravenclaw.

"Absolutely nothing," Draco said vehemently as he squeezed through the narrow slit between the walls with a disdainful scowl. "The cross is a muggle religious icon. You should know that."

"I do know that," Wufei said stiffly, coal black almond-shaped eyes turning to pin Draco with a frank stare. He stood to the side, finally giving the Slytherin an unchallenged view of the cavern before him. He raised one finger to point at the out-of-place object preciously guarded by clear glass that walled the bejewelled crucifix on all sides, resting on a majestically decorated podium. "But did Slytherin?"

The gold encrusted, emerald and ruby inlaid cross was not the only artifact that seemed grossly out of place in the private collection of a man who was reputed to despise muggles and anything muggle-related. Directly to the right of the protected icon was a simple clay goblet that, if the small sign posted at the corner of the display case had any smidgeon of truth, could quite possibly be _the_ Holy Grail.

"Holy Grail?" Draco said doubtfully, eyeing the rather unremarkable goblet with skepticism clearly written across his face. "Doesn't seem to be anything remotely 'holy' about it."

"It's the goblet Jesus drank from at the Last Supper," Wufei said quietly, approaching the glass case for a closer inspection. Though he was not Christian in faith, even he had to appreciate the historical existence of such a find. "According to legend, drinking from the Holy Grail on a constant basis assures the drinker immortality. It also miraculously heals the sick and dying."

"Really," Draco drawled, inspecting the displayed goblet with renewed interest; self-interest, mostly. "How fascinating. I wonder if Slytherin ever put this legend to the test."

Wufei shrugged absently, murmuring, "If the legend does prove true, I can understand why Slytherin would want it. Miraculous healing is a good card to hold. However, I doubt that is the case, or Slytherin would be using it to his full advantage. As the Holy Grail is here and Slytherin hasn't been heard from since he left Hogwarts, it's a safe bet that there's no truth behind the legend." After a pause, Wufei cautiously prodded, "Or, judging by the surrounding religious icons associated with the Christian significance of the Holy Grail, it could have held some sentimental value."

"Please don't tell me that," Draco muttered, his interest in the plain goblet disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared. He instead turned his attention to the three rows of shelves, enclosed by a glass cover that protected the preserved illuminated manuscripts and the ancient scrolls that rested within. "The Lives of Adam and Eve, the Book of Enoch... The Infancy of Jesus Christ?" With a perturbed wrinkle of his brow, Draco muttered softly, "What the hell... A handwritten _Bible_?"

"What are the chances," Wufei said casually, peering down a short corridor leading to an even bigger cavern filled with numerous valuable artifacts famed throughout history, "of Slytherin being a closet Christian?"

"Don't even joke," Draco snapped, scandalized by the very idea. "If a nasty rumor like that got out, there would be pandemonium. Morale amongst the Slytherins will be obsolete. Chaos, Wufei! Disorder! By the spirits, think of the children!"

"Think of your blood pressure," Wufei said evenly, tempted to roll his eyes in exasperation. Thankfully, he managed to curb the urge. "Though I won't say you're being entirely too over dramatic," mostly because, at that point, Wufei fully realized the Slytherin House would react exactly as Draco predicted, "but maybe all of this is a sort of passive interest." _Like collecting glass bottles or stealing hotel towels_, Wufei thought with a private smirk. The smirk immediately disappeared when Draco glared at him from over his shoulder.

"Why do I get the feeling you're just patronizing me?" Draco muttered darkly.

Straight-faced, Wufei honestly replied, "I don't recall saying anything that would have given you that impression."

Draco narrowed his grey eyes accusingly. "You _are_ patronizing me, you unbelievable bast-"

A powerful rumble shook the ground; while the short tremor was neither long enough to instill a sense of panic, nor strong enough to cause much alarm, it was definitely enough to stop Draco's impending rant before the irate bland could really gather steam. Now wide-eyed and a little off balance, Draco demanded breathlessly, "What was that?"

Wufei closed his eyes wearily, slumping his shoulders as he shook his head in defeat. "Maxwell really needs to learn not to touch anything that appears even vaguely foreign to him."

Draco smirked. "Judging by that response, I'd say this happens often."

"Things like this always happen when Maxwell is involved," Wufei said heavily, straightening his posture as he swept back toward the small crevice they had come through. "We better go see what disaster Maxwell has unleashed upon us now."

"Tell me the truth," the blond pureblood said casually, obediently following the Ravenclaw with a sense of relief, glad to be leaving the damning evidence of Slytherin's obsession well behind him. "You say things like that just for the wretched premature worry wrinkles it gives me, don't you?"

"Nothing wrong with a friendly notice," Wufei replied simply. His back to Draco, the blond did not have the means nor the opportunity to view the smug smirk that stretched the Chinese youth's lips.

Draco, however, turned out to have an impeccable sense of when Wufei was having a chuckle at the blond's expense. "I really hate you sometimes, Wufei."

Typical. "I know, Black, but you always respect me in the morning," Wufei said patronizingly. He openly laughed at the spoiled Slytherin's growl of irritation. After all, even someone like Chang Wufei needed to find a reason to laugh at the people around him sometimes.

----------

"Hey, Hee-chan," Duo called out, peering into the gaping mouth of the enormous stone effigy of who the American could only assume had been Salazar Slytherin. In his honest opinion, the years had not been kind to his infamous purist ancestor. Time certainly hadn't been kind to the man's teeth, if the inside of the effigy's mouth was anything to go by. "Looks like old Salazar put his money where his mouth was."

After a moment of silence, Heero appeared from behind one of the large stone snakes to give Duo a questioning glance. When the Japanese SLytherin saw his braided boyfriend, head disappearing into the effigy's mouth, he casually rolled his eyes and replied flatly, "That's a terrible pun, Duo."

The American snickered gleefully, pulling his head from the effigy's mouth to grin saucily at Heero from over his shoulder. "I know. Isn't it great?" He laughed again when Heero served him a reserved, long-suffering look that implied Duo's terrible punning really had nothing to do with greatness. Not waiting for a verbal response (and doubtful that he would receive one), Duo indicated the tunnel with a jerk of his head. "I'm going to check this out. Be back in ten if it leads anywhere."

"Don't touch anything," Heero called out before disappearing back the way he came.

"Why does everyone always say that to me?" Duo wondered aloud, speaking mostly to himself.

"Why don't you ever listen?" came Heero's rhetorical retort from somewhere in the vicinity of the front of the cavern.

Duo winced. "Ouch, Hee-chan. That hit me -hard." The American's hearing was just keen enough to register the dry snort from his boyfriend. When it became obvious that Heero didn't intend to say anything more on the matter, Duo carefully crawled through the inclining tunnel of Slytherin's mouth. The journey was a short one. The American was already pulling his wand out to cast the Lumos charm to drive away the pitch black darkness the moment his booted foot touched the floor. As soon as the sole of his boot met the ground, a sudden pure white light flooded his vision, blinding him momentarily. Driven by instinct, Duo grunted as his hand flew to his face in an effort to stave away the blinding light, head turned back and eyes tightly clasped. A gush of hot air engulfed him, quickly permeating the are in a sweltering heat.

Once he was sure his eyes had adjusted, he finally opened his eyes to inspect his surroundings. It took a moment to access the full capabilities of his vision; the light was everywhere, suffused in the perfectly circular room. For a moment, the only details that he noticed was that he appeared to be inside a mammoth-sized crystal ball.

For one strange, surreal moment, his brain rushed to conjure an image of a giant bug-eyed Trelawney peering at him, her already bug-like eyes magnified by the crystal that encased him. The American shuddered violently at the image, feeling a sudden swell of pity for the so-called Seer's poor crystal ball. He quickly vowed to liberate the Seer's tool and set it free in the wild. No doubt, the crystal ball would not move under its own power, but the "liberation" would certainly put a bee in that quack's bonnet.

_Oh, Duo_, the American thought to himself with a wickedly mischievous chuckle. _You so bad_.

All devious plotting to undermine one of his least favorite teachers aside, the room he was in easily regained his interest. For one, the entire room appeared to have been carved from pure white marble. Aside from the flatness of the floor, the walls ballooned outwardly before curving back inwardly over the center of the room; by the sweltering heat, Duo was tempted to begin referring to the room as Slytherin's Secret Sauna of Doom. His suspicions were only proved by the simple, marble throne that bled directly into the wall. A rounded table jutted boldly from the floor all the way up to the middle of Duo's chest; ancient runes were carved into the flat surface of the table, connected by a completely circle around the edge of the table. In the center was a raised oval that had the slight impression of a hand print laid into the marble.

Slytherin's Secret Sauna of Doom didn't really seem like an apt term for the room; so why was it so damn hot?...

Bingo.

"The basilisk's nest," Duo murmured, vaguely impressed with the ingenious use of the space. Snakes were cold-blooded creatures by nature; basilisks were giant vicious snakes. The monster wouldn't have been able to survive in such a cold, dank atmosphere such as the caverns outside for long without a warm place to heat its blood. "Smart ancestor. I applaud."

Still nothing but a nasty bigot, though. Better stick with the Secret Sauna of Doom theory.

"And this," Duo murmured softly, stepping up to the podium in the center with keen interest, "must be the sauna controls." Curiously, the American pressed his hand over the print laid into the marble, just to see what would happened.

He certainly hadn't expected pain.

There was barely a warning sound to indicate something was about to happen; a clean 'schick!', and something damnably sharp sliced into his palm. He jerked the injured appendage back with a cry, cradling his injured hand preciously to his chest as he leapt away from the podium warily. The podium had done it's job; the stolen blood that pooled on the surface filtered into the carved lines, spilling into rune after rune until all the symbols were filled.

For a moment, the world stood still. The magically charged air _imploded_, sending a pulse of pure power outwardly from the center of the podium, expanding outward rapidly, washing Duo over in a palpable slipstream of pure magic. If Duo had to put into words the sensation he felt as that wave slammed into not his body, but what seemed like his very spirit, he would honestly have to say that it felt remarkably like what he imagined it would feel like if time hiccuped.

When feeling rushed back into his body, he gasped and stumbled forward, barely catching himself on the podium that had started everything in the first place. He felt as if his internal organs had almost forgotten how to function properly; finally, his heart started beating, his lungs were filling with air, and his stomach suddenly found need to protest. His brain, it seemed, was the last to catch up with the rest of the happy, functioning organs.

At least, that was his excuse when the new presence completely escaped his notice until a voice that wasn't his decided to speak. "That was a little more unpleasant for you than I expected," came a quiet, strong male voice. "I apologize."

Oh, good. Someone to blame.

"You're goddamn right that was unpleasant," Duo said accusingly, his gaze snapping toward the source of the voice. "And don't give me that crap about being a 'little more' unpleasant than you expected -I'm bleeding, you know. That just _screams_ 'Duo is not going to be a happy boy.'" His higher brain function finally kicking into gear, Duo belatedly realized that, as far as he was aware, he'd been alone only moments before.

The young man that had suddenly appeared before him was elegantly poised, seated on the simple marble throne that had been empty moments ago. One long leg crossing over the other, the side of one snow-pale cheeks resting on the equally pale, delicate knuckles of his right fist, ruby-red eyes focused on the American intently through long, thick eyelashes that were the same ruby color as not only his eyes, but his shapely eyebrows and his thick, ruby-red hair. The hairstyle was slightly different than what Duo was used to seeing; long locks of thick hair framed his heart-shaped face, but the back was shorn a shorter length. The young man, no younger than eighteen and no older than twenty, gave off the air of quiet sincerity.

"Who are you?" Duo muttered slowly, frowning at the man as he attempted to casually rest his uninjured left hand over the small lump where his gun was hidden. While he was a better marksman right-handed, he was confident he could nail this guy right in the third eye from his distance just as easily with his left hand.

"I'm the man," the ruby-eyed stranger began with a quiet sort of serenity, "that brought you here."

That could only mean... "The Oracle, I presume?"(2) Duo said dryly, lifting one eyebrow in curious inquiry. The stranger merely dipped his head once in response. "Hell of an entrance there, guy."

The ruby-eyed man frowned thoughtfully. He seemed honestly befuddled by Duo's behavior.

Okay. New tactic. "You gotta name, 'the Oracle'?"

"The Oracle is fine for now," the man said softly. "There will be time for such things in the future."

"Uh-huh," Duo murmured flatly. "You'd be the expert on that, I suppose. But I reserve the right to call you Orie." Always a good cure for people who were a little too tightlipped about their identities -saddle them with a ridiculous nickname. However, the subtle attempt to drag the man's true name from him backfired, as the Oracle actually seemed quite satisfied with his new designation; in fact, he appeared oddly pleased with the development.

Wufei's sharp voice alerted Duo to the fact that he wasn't the only one who felt the grand arrival of the Oracle. "Maxwell -what do we tell you? _Don't touch anything_!"

Everybody was a critic.

"Duo?" Quatre's voice followed, rift with concern. "Are you alright?"

Except for Quatre. Quatre was generally too sincere to be much of a critic unless it was something the little blond really couldn't stand for.

"Yep," Duo called down the tunnel cheerfully. "I made a man."

Silence.

"What?" he heard Draco mutter, his voice heavy with confusion.

Duo grinned at the newly named Orie, who silently observed the exchange with keen interest. "Oh, yeah. They're gonna love you."

_The Weirdness of Duo Maxwell strikes again!_

_**END CHAPTER ELEVEN**_

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**__**

**(1) Bare with me. The Spoken Word: Obviously, a wizard can execute a spell without speaking. Snape attempts to hone this skill in the sixth book, though the results are rather poor. Therefore, there must be some sort of power in vocal command. Ergo: The Spoken Word (TM). :pause: Yeah... The job takes over my life, yet I still have far, far too much time on my hands.**

**(2) I hate, hate, _hate_ original characters. Keep that in mind.**


	12. And The Adventure Begins

**REVISION: Yeah. That's right. Fixed random mistakes and added some mini-scenes, which brings the length to a fresh number of thirty-nine. Woot, go me. :_grins_:**

**Thanks so much for reviewing! Coming home to a stash of lovely words makes my long, tiresome day a little brighter. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to maintain a healthy appetite****when random people call you every thirty seconds to complain about the filthy, disgusting dark sludge that was passing through their faucets and causing their septic tanks to rebel? Yeah... Today _sucked_.)But you, dear readers, make it all worth the effort. Kudos to you. :grins:**

**Onward!**

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_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Twelve**_

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****

Wufei and Draco had only felt the caverns tremble. Quatre and Trowa, closer to the main cavern from whence the source of the disturbance came, both felt an instant sensation of vertigo, not only physically, but mentally. Duo, of course, bore the full brunt of what could only be described as a backlash of magic, being at the very epicenter of the disturbance.

Heero, on the other hand, experienced a rather unsettling medium. Having found numerous smaller openings that lead into larger passageways, some of which would be difficult to squeeze through for bodies stockier than his own, Heero had been on his way to check on Duo's progress when the disruption occurred.

Disruption. Disturbance. These were the only words to describe the physical repercussion of Duo's actions; it was as if Heero had been standing too close to a weak but devastatingly destructive bomb. The backlash slammed into him so hard that it actually knocked him off of his feet, leaving him with the vague feeling that he had been punched in the solar plexis by a man that could bench-press a Buick. For someone as strong and agile as Heero, that sensation alone was far too unsettling.

He'd been laying on his back, dazed and winded when Quatre and Trowa came running from the passageway they'd been exploring. Trowa merely looked perturbed, quickly deducing by the sight of Heero that they had only felt part of what Heero and Duo had. Quatre, however, looked far more concerned, his hand unconsciously clutching his shirt above his heart.

"Heero!" Quatre asked, worriedly. "What happened to Duo?"

No question could have snapped the dazed Japanese pilot out of his stupor any faster. A cold sense of dread filling the pit of his stomach, he was barely aware of when Trowa reached down to help him stand. Like an automaton, he firmly clasped his reserved companion's hand firmly into his and, with Trowa's strength, managed to pull himself to his feet with very little trouble. He ignored his body's physical protest at moving so soon, still suffering internally from whatever had occurred to put him in that state in the first place.

Before he could even explain, all three were perfectly capable of hearing Duo's peevish ranting emitting from the mouth of Slytherin's effigy. Heero visibly slumped in relief; though he could not make out exactly what the American was yelling about, his boyfriend was obviously well enough to work himself into a righteous tongue-lashing.

"Is Wufei or Draco in there with him?" Quatre asked, confused.

Heero frowned. "No, they haven't retu-"

"What did Maxwell do?" Wufei demanded, breaking from the darkness of the passage he and Draco had disappeared down only half an hour ago at a quick stride. Draco, a sullen expression on his face, was following the Chinese youth at a more reserved pace.

"Wufei," Quatre said, chiding, "I hardly think it's fair that we immediately assume Duo caused what we felt."

"Oh, you _know_ Maxwell is at the heart of it," Wufei said pointedly, focusing his attention on what Trowa and Heero seemed to find interesting. He narrowed his coal black eyes when he heard Duo's voice emit from the mouth.

"The Heir is speaking via the Founder," Draco commented wryly. "How ironic."

Wufei swept closer to the mouth, calling through the opening waspishly, "Maxwell -what do we tell you? _Don't touch anything_!"

"Wufei," Quatre sighed, shaking his head before he attempted to make up for the Ravenclaw's directly accusatory approach. "Duo? Are you alright?"

Slightly muffled, the American was perfectly capable of transmitting his flippant amusement by quipping back, "Yep." And then, "I made a man." These words were said with such a bluntly honest but simplistic tone that it took a brief moment for the group of boys outside Duo's conclave to register what they meant. Still, the exact implication of what was behind Duo's cryptic, nonsensical response eluded them.

"What?" Draco finally said, blinking in confusion. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The other four pilots exchanged questioning glances, not entirely sure any of them understood what the American had meant. With a cheery call of, "Incoming!" the Gryffindor slid out of Slytherin's mouth, immediately landing on his feet with a large grin stretching across his face.

"I repeat: I made a man," Duo said, preening. "From this day henceforth he shall be known as Orie. It's a wonderful name that will, no doubt, inspire a lot of cookie jokes. Some of them may contain implied sexual innuendos about licking the cream from the center, but I expect I'll be the only one thinking of those." He gave each of them an individual look of mischief before he moved to the side, calling up the mouth with a loud, "Clear!"

Heero bristled wearily when a tall, solemn-faced older man appeared from the gaping mouth of Slytherin's effigy. Though he couldn't have been older than nineteen, the young man was as tall as Zechs Marquise, with skin as pale as Quatre's and hair and eyes that were an unusually vibrant ruby red. The Japanese boy couldn't fathom why this stranger put him on edge. This tall, lithe man's face and eyes radiated earnest sincerity and warmth, though his posture remained reserved and content. "Who are you?"

"This is Orie," Duo said nonchalantly, appearing unconcerned about the stranger. "Not his real name, though, since he's decided he's going to make me guess. Orie, by the way, is short for 'Oracle', which is who he is."

"How is that possible?" Trowa asked curiously, giving the man a frank once-over. "Draco said there hasn't been an Oracle for well over a millennium."

The Oracle tilted to his head to the side and said, very simply and quietly, "One of my lesser-known monikers is 'Time Lord.'"(1)

"Duo, you're bleeding," Quatre said after his eyes strayed to the boy's right hand, having noticed that Duo's hand had been dripping crimson into the water puddled at their feet.

"Oh," Duo said, lifting his hand and inspecting the deep, clean cut that split his skin. He winced a little, admitting, "I think it clipped a bone..."

The Oracle frowned, appearing deeply troubled over Duo's injury. The man reached out and cradled the injured hand in one of his own, his other hand settling over the small of the American's back before he lead the boy to kneel closer to the water. Heero couldn't prevent the possessive twitch at the corner of his eyelid when he saw the stranger place his hands on his boyfriend; the man's actions were quickly explained when he guided Duo's hand into the water.

"That water could be filthy," Wufei protested, concerned that stagnant water could lead to a massive infection. He halted further protest when Duo lifted his hand from the water. There was no sign that the serious cut had been there at all besides the thin lines of bright red that webbed across the skin of his palm.

"There are phoenix tears in the water," the Oracle said quietly, guiding Duo back to his feet before removing his hands from the boy. "Diluted, but effective against physical injuries."

"Nifty," Duo said, vaguely impressed as he studied the unmarred skin of his palm closely. "You're still not forgiven, by the way. But this goes a long way in making me like you more."

The Oracle, however, did not acknowledge Duo's comment. The ruby-haired man was not being cruel inasmuch as his eyes strayed to what was left of Slytherin's monster. Never sparing the group of seventh years even a cursory glance, he glided forward through the shallow water and walked the length of the monster, finally stopping at the large, fanged skull. His thoughtful expression never changing, he reached forward and drew his finger down the length of the slim crack in the center of the beast's skull.

"Dead basilisk," Duo said pointed, raising an eyebrow curiously. "Friend of yours?"

"Not remotely," the Oracle replied serenely, though his eyes still maintained somber reverence for the creature. "Azraiel is Lord Gryffindor's trophy. We all knew such a dangerous monster would be a hazard to the students, and Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff attempted to dissuade Lord Gryffindor from keeping the beast alive, but Lord Gryffindor wouldn't hear of it. Lord Slytherin decided to keep the beast confined in the Chamber for the students' safety."

That was certainly different from what any of them had been lead to believe. Duo exchanged a surprised, vaguely disbelieving glance with Draco when he said, "Funny. Everyone thinks the basilisk was Slytherin's pet."

The Oracle finally retracted from the basilisk's skull, pinning the six seventh years with sincerely honest ruby-red eyes. "Lord Slytherin pities the beast for her captivity; he, more than anyone, has a special affinity towards snakes. A basilisk, however, is far too dangerous to tame." With another lingering glance at the fallen monster, he added softly, "Even monsters do not deserve to be caged. He would have preferred her demise."

"You speak of the Founders in present tense," Trowa noted simply, pinning the Oracle with a mildly curious stare. "You knew them personally?"

The man nodded solemnly in response. "I've known them since I was only six summers old, when Lord Slytherin found me and took me in. Though Lady Ravenclaw and Lady Hufflepuff were twice my age, and Lord Gryffindor even older, I schooled with the Founders until I was eleven. That was the same year construction on this school began."

"No kidding," Draco said, mildly impressed. "So you're... what? A memory? An echo of who you used to be?"

"I am as real as I was before the ritual was initiated," the Oracle replied quietly. "Lord Maxwell did exactly what I had intended him to do. He's brought me to the future -now the present -so the fall of the Disinherited will be assured."

"Is that right," Draco said flatly, crossing his arms and pinning the Oracle with a relentless glare. "So how badly would this have turned out if you hadn't interfered?"

The Oracle remained silent, though the man was stable enough in his own defense to meet Draco's accusing stare with one of somber honesty. The answer was clear; the eventual outcome if the Oracle had left things well enough alone would have been devastating.

"Does it really matter?" Quatre asked, glancing at Draco curiously. "His actions are in our favor. It's the luckiest break Harry could have ever received."

"That doesn't excuse mucking about with time," Draco said stoically, slanting Quatre a quick look of mild reproach. "Those with the Sight are only supposed to read the future for a reason; wizarding society has strict rules in regards to manipulating time. Anything above four hours is considered a Dark Act punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban."

The ruby-haired man tilted his head to the side in thoughtful contemplation. "I am unfamiliar with this term -Azkaban. In my time, one who abused his gift would have his magic stripped from him. It is a suitable punishment for crimes against nature."

"Hah!" Draco said triumphantly, pointed at the man with a smug smirk. "So you admit you broke the law!"

"I never denied it," Orie said serenely. "Nevertheless, there were no other viable options. Any result of my actions -or inactions -would have been too much of a burden to bare." Bowing his head in silent contemplation, the man added firmly, "Time is not a child's toy, Lord Malfoy -as such, I would not dare treat it as such." Then he turned and began purposefully striding to the passageway that Wufei and Draco had just returned from exploring. "Come, now. There is much to do."

"Draco got told," Duo sang with a wide, shit-eating grin on his face. The blond shot him a vicious glare before he jogged after the Oracle, fully intending to give the man a piece of his mind.

"It's Black," Draco said flatly, glaring at the man's back. The Oracle's step hardly faltered when he added snottily, "For someone with the words 'Oracle, comma, the' on his resume, you sure aren't living up to standards."

"A man who is shunned not out of revulsion, but the truest proof of love, does not deserve to be stripped of his roots," the Oracle said softly, not even looking at the blond boy following closely at his heels. The other five were directly behind Draco, exchanging raised eyebrows and vaguely impressed glances. "It is in that matter that you will always be your father's son."

Draco wanted to hate him. As a general rule, Draco hated anyone who was even loosely associated with reading the fabric of time. Nothing a Seer had to say could be taken as good news. Most prophecies were, in fact, more trouble than they were worth, sometimes even propagating events to occur when they could have been avoided completely. As a point of fact, Harry's life would have been a lot less complicated for a greater amount of time if Voldemort hadn't caught wind of a prophecy that supposedly spelled his doom. In Draco's personal opinion, the future could have certainly done without the appearance of an Oracle -a manipulative one, at that.

The time traveler didn't have to be so damn _nice_ about the inconvenience. The Oracle certainly knew what to say to derail Draco's sullen indignation.

"You said your other options were unforgivable," Heero said, his eyes narrowed at the Oracle's back. "What were they?"

_Jeez, Hee-chan_, Duo thought with a quick, warm smile directed toward his boyfriend._ Subtle, you are not_. The question was a valid one, of course. If they were going to go out on a limb and trust this stranger, they had to know what made him tick. What better way was there to decide a proper course of action than delving into exactly why Orie went to such extremes when there were easier options on the table?

"It was either do nothing and be content with the eventual fall of the wizarding world," Orie said in a quiet, solemn manner, leading the group down the mural-painted passageway with a sense of purpose, "or end it all at the source and kill an innocent child by the name of Isabella Slytherin." Pausing for a moment, he glanced over his shoulder somberly and said, in a rather heavy tone, "Neither lead to an outcome I could bear."

Duo shivered wearily, realizing how easily his very existence could have been prevented if the man before him had taken the easy road. No matter the low points of his short life, the possibility of never existing sent chills down his spine.

The world would have wept and fallen to pieces without him. Truly. And screw anyone who thought differently.

"Where are you leading us?" Wufei asked once the group was led into the passageway's spectacular nighttime mural, fireflies happily gliding between the painted trees. "There's nothing but Christian relics down here."

Duo perked up, his interest piqued. "Really?"

"As far as we got," Draco muttered sullenly. "I still think anything muggle-related down here was kept out of spite. I mean, what are the chances of Slytherin worshiping the muggles' God?"

The Oracle hummed in amusement, pausing before the crevice in the wall and glancing at Draco over his shoulder. "Lord Slytherin would never participate in such a vulgar practice as Christianity -these things are _my_ possessions because, unlike my guardian, my early years were saturated with exposure to the children of the earth." With a small, cynical smile, he added softly, "He often excuses my faith by claiming I do not know better."

"Children of the -do you mean _muggles_?" Quatre asked curiously, his gaze pondering.

"I'm not familiar with that term," Orie admitted simply, not the least bit interested in what the unfamiliar word could possibly mean. Instead, he easily squeezed through the crevice.

"You still haven't explained _why_ we're in here," Wufei prodded meaningfully after all of them were inside the cavern. With a sense of absolutely purpose, the Oracle had gone to the safely encased tomes of lost books of the Bible and was lifting the top of the display. He reached inside and carefully lifted one of the illuminated manuscripts from the display case.

"Lady Ravenclaw said to me mere days ago that, when in doubt, look to the creation for guidance."

"The creation?" Duo murmured. "Genesis?"

Orie smiled absently before carefully laying the book on the surface of the display case. "Lady Ravenclaw was no more an enthusiast of the muggles' faith than Lord Slytherin. However, she is a knowledgeable woman, and so she is well aware that the origin of wizards also lies within these scriptures."

A wispy memory of his days spent in a Catholic orphanage, Duo's eyes lit up when Orie's explanation became clear. "You mean the Book of Enoch."

The Oracle glanced at him, suitably impressed that one of them, at least, had understood his reference. "Correct. Would I be mistaken in assuming you have some interest in the faith of the children of the earth?"

_There's that phrase again_, Duo thought in bemusement. With a casual shrug, he explained nonchalantly, "Well, the priest and the nun who raised me had a healthy relationship with the religion. They had a lot of books about even the lost scriptures." With a pointed glance at the ornate book that the Oracle was gleaning through with his eyes, he added, "Nothing as fantastic as an ancient illuminated manuscript, though. That thing is in mint condition despite the fact they've been kept in this damp, cold atmosphere for over a millennium."

Orie smiled absently, his eyes still tracing over the handwritten words on the thick sheets of what appeared to be well-kept animal skin. "My father collected them before I was born when rumors of the Catholic Church's intentions to gather the forgotten scriptures and hide them away in their private library reached. They came to me not long after his passing."

"So, wait," Draco said slowly, frowning. "You're a _muggleborn_? And Salazar Slytherin _raised _you?"

The Oracle frowned, obviously at a loss for what the blond was implying. Quatre, basing his theory on what little he'd gathered by turning the conversation over in his head, said helpfully, "I believe what we mean by muggles is what you mean when you say children of the earth."

The more that phrase was spoken, the easier Duo found it to find the exact memory as to why it sounded so familiar.

"_What does it mean?"_

_The priest paused in his work, glancing to the doorway of his office curiously. When his eyes sought those of the determined amethyst eyes and defiantly braided hair, the kindly father smiled thoughtfully at one of the most notorious orphan Maxwell Church had to offer the world. This boy was always the one searching, childless couples would come to adopt; likewise, the longest a single couple would ever keep him was for a week before, at their wits' end, they would return the boy to the church._

_The priest thought, always with a fond chuckle, that it was God's way of saying that the boy was already home. Then again, perhaps that was little Duo's conviction. Either way, the priest didn't mind. It was no secret amongst the community that Father Maxwell considered the infamous Maxwell's Demon a son._

"_A little more explicit with your questions, Duo," the man said kindly, waving the boy to enter his office. "What are you asking?"_

_The boy wielded the worn Bible tightly clasped with one hand, his eyes pointedly inquiring. "Daughters of the earth. It says that Enoch walked with God and wrote about the daughters of the earth, and then it just goes on to the next vague story. What does daughters of the earth mean?"_

_The priest laughed softly and stood from his desk, gliding to his wall of books and perusing the shelves. Finally, he found a slim volume and removed it from its' place. "We are children of the earth, Duo. Enoch wrote of the time when angels, tempted by the beautiful hair of women, came down from Heaven and consorted with the daughters of the earth. They gave sons of the earth armor, weapons, taught us their sorcery and laid with the women."_

"_So why don't we still see angels?"_

"_Because with armor and weaponry came the desire to use it, with sorcery came black magic, and born from the fornication of angels and daughters of the earth were terrible, violent giants that feasted on the flesh of man. Those angels that consorted with the children of the earth were cast down, and God forbade the angels to interact with us so freely." With another soft chuckle, he added, "It's also why, in Jesus' days, women were expected to wear shawls over their hair; they didn't want to tempt the angels."_

"_So why doesn't it just _say_ that?" Duo grumbled, tossing the Bible on the Father's desk before crossing his arms over his chest and giving the book an irritated scowl._

"_Because the founders of the Catholic Church couldn't find room for it," Father Maxwell explained gently before handing Duo the slim book that was plainly titled _The Forbidden Books_. "I'm impressed that you finally decided to read the Bible, Duo, and you're enthusiasm for learning is admirable."_

_Duo visibly kept himself from preening under the father's praise, instead giving the title of the book a skeptical glance. "If the Church couldn't find room for the cooler stories," the little boy griped, "then why is the word 'forbidden' in the title?"_

"_Most of the books left out of the Bible were either left out because of suspicious origins, questionable dates, or concepts that the founders weren't comfortable with," the Father explained with a wry grin. "You should read the Gospel of Mary and the Lives of Adam and Eve. It preaches a far greater respect for women."_

Duo brought himself from his pondering when the Oracle finally spoke. "Ah," Orie said softly, nodding his head thoughtfully. "Then yes, I was born of the earth."

"What does the creation of wizards and giants in Bible scriptures have to do with why we're here?" Duo asked, leaning his hip against the display that contained the old tomes. "Why you're here, in fact. C'mon, Orie, we need answers before we agree to do anything, man."

Draco blinked, glancing at the illuminated manuscript in askance. "You mean the stories about the Celestials?"

"What?" Wufei said sharply, glancing between Duo and Draco in confusion. The chances of the two of them almost being on the same page (but not quite) in regards to the Oracle's frustratingly vague attention to detail were astronomically slim, especially when the Oracle and Duo were discussing Judaism and Christianity.

"It's an old creation myth that most of the purebloods know, at least in passing," Draco explained. "A battle between the Celestials, who were entirely of another plain of existence, broke down the separation between the realities. Celestials were attracted to introducing their ways and cultures on a race entirely different of their own, and they likewise enjoyed our culture. They taught us magic and gave us weapons, and the union between Celestial and humans bore giants. The giants were violent and chaotic, and the Celestials decided that it wasn't a good thing to impose themselves on mankind. The Celestials that refused to leave were left here to connect with this plain, thus the birth of Veela, as well."

Duo raised his eyebrow in amusement. "That's basically the gist of the Book of Enoch, except Veela aren't mentioned, the Celestials are angels, and God is the one who decided angels and children of the earth were non-mixy things."

Trowa raised his hand pointedly, grabbing the attention for a moment as he asked simply, "And this all has to do with what?"

"Ravenclaw's Library," Orie said, finally providing a straight-forward answer. "The Ritual of the Five was written by Lady Ravenclaw; it is in her private library where you will find the only copy."

The Gundam pilots, as one, exchanged questioning looks. Draco, having a better idea at what the Oracle was implying this time, said suspiciously, "This wouldn't have anything to do with that ritual in your prophecy, would it?"

Duo felt like cheering over his phenomenally sneaky idea paying off. The righteous moralist within him (or what was left of the persona) felt ashamed that one of the main reasons Duo drafted Draco first was to have an insider on what the Golden Trio would be up to this time around; he liked to think he would have included his pureblood friend regardless, but he would have been a lot warier about it. The part of him that rather enjoyed holding all of the cards felt pretty good about the decision, even though he was slightly uneasy with the idea that Draco was the true winner in this game. "Wow, Harry cracked already? I'm impressed, dragon boy."

Trowa, in an unusual show of public amusement, snickered suddenly. Draco, cheeks pink, looked away with an uncomfortably noncommital hum of acknowledgment. Duo raised his eyebrows as he looked between the two, knowing that there had to be a juicy story in that maelstrom of reactions somewhere. "Okay. Is someone going to clue the rest of us in?"

Trowa, his one visible green eye fairly dancing with inner mirth, succinctly replied, "I think I'll let Draco explain it." Damn. Looked like Trowa was going to keep the inside joke between the two of them.

Relieved, Draco said breezily, "Harry asked me to help him find the Four Heirs of Hogwarts. He glossed over something about a ritual; I expect I'll be hearing more about it, however, after he breaks the unfortunate news to his nosy little friends that the number of their helpers jumped to four." The former Malfoy heir smirked triumphantly. "And the Slytherin finally penetrates the ranks."

Trowa choked painfully, turning his back on everyone as his shoulders shook violently in withheld laughter. Wincing painfully, his pale skin flushed red with embarrassment, Draco tiredly rubbed his palms over his face before he muttered bitterly, "By the spirits, Trowa, do you have to be such an obvious pervert?"

"Trowa, if you don't stop laughing," Duo warned teasingly, "you are morally obligated to share the joy."

"No, he's not!" Draco emphatically yelled, scowling fiercely at Duo.

Without missing a beat, Duo said impishly, "So keep laughing because you have no idea how badly I want to laugh with you."

"Trowa, swear to me you'll never tell Duo," Draco insisted vehemently. "I don't care if you tell anyone else, as long as it's not him or my mother. And just as long as you get whoever you tell to swear never to tell them! I want your oath as a _wizard_, Trowa Barton!"

"That really stings, dragon boy," Duo said, fawning hurt. Fluttering his eyelashes prettily, he said innocently, "I mean, don't you love me anymore?"

"I like you well enough," Draco said stonily, glaring at the American accusingly. "It won't stop you from teasing me horribly at every opportunity. Mother is bad enough on her own; I don't need _two_ of her in my life."

"Going back to the point," Heero broke in suddenly, eyes focused primarily on the thoughtful man who had been silently but keenly observing the interaction between the three friends, "what, exactly, is the Ritual of the Five?"

"It is a complex ritual that incorporates the specific magical signatures of the Four Heirs of Hogwarts and a specific catalyst; that catalyst could be anyone with great magical prowess, but the inclusion of the Four Heirs is explicitly woven into the spell."

"What's the purpose of that specific procedure?" Quatre asked curiously, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. "Why does it have to be the Four Heirs of Hogwarts instead of just anyone?"

"The Founders," the Oracle said quietly, "went to great lengths to tie their very essence to Hogwarts and her land. The land this school was founded upon is crossed with magical ley lines that rival the number of lines crossing at Stonehenge. At the very heart of her is where all of these lines intersect; it is what powers the wards, increases magical potential, and harnesses Hogwarts' most effective defense against those that would do her and her charges harm."

"So the ritual is a trigger," Heero said compendiously. "The Heirs plus one are the wielders. The true weapon is the heart of Hogwarts. The question now is, what does this ritual do with that power?"

"It doesn't kill anyone," Orie said softly. "Lord Slytherin and Lady Ravenclaw were very stern on that point. Lord Gryffindor and Lady Hufflepuff were of the opposite persuasion; in their defense, they believed death was the better alternative." The Oracle smiled briefly. "Lady Ravenclaw believes that those who would involve harmless children in their petty quarrels deserve such a fate."

Duo grinned wickedly. "Lady Ravenclaw sounds like my kind of woman." A punishment worse than death? Part of him pitied the enemies of Hogwarts; the other mentally rubbed his hands together in maniacal glee over the deliciously _just_ outcome bound to come. All they had to do was find a library.

His enthusiasm deflated when he realized that, as far as top secret hidden treasure trove of ancient knowledge went, he didn't have the slightest idea as to where he would be _looking_ for the damn thing. _I want my just punishment. Now!_

"Just to make sure we're all on the same page," Wufei said meaningfully, crossing his arms, "we're now searching for Ravenclaw's Library to find a ritual that is mentioned in a prophecy that's about Harry with our only clue hidden in some wizarding creation myth that happens to be mentioned in disregarded Bible scriptures, even though there hasn't been any mention of such a library in Hogwarts, A History. Is that right?"

"Ah," Orie said, shaking his head. "Tales of the Slytherin's Chamber were passed on with the explicit purpose of generating an interesting infamy; if the Chamber of Secrets truly were secret, no rumors of it would have existed, and you would have had a much more difficult time finding the entrance. Ravenclaw's Library is just as real as these chambers.

"One more thing," the Oracle added, glancing back at Duo. "Lady Ravenclaw entrusted me with a riddle meant to help you find her library. It was after quoting her riddle to me that she told me to look to the creation for answers."

The boys were silent. Finally, Wufei turned to his friends and asked, quite solemnly, "Do we really want to take on this responsibility when it is delivered to us through very suspicious means?" With a purposeful glance toward Orie. To the man's credit, he didn't at all take offense to the Chinese youth's cautious approach.

"Think of the consequences if we don't even try to validate it," Trowa responded thoughtfully, tapping his cheek absently as his eyes studied the ground in thought. "It's not something we can casually brush to the side."

Heero, eyes narrowed, admitted stoically, "I don't like pursuing something when we don't even have enough proof of its existence. Nothing is stopping the Oracle from up and leaving without a moment's notice."

"It's not like he can leave if we close the entrance behind us," Duo offered casually, tantalizing daydreams of scenarios that undisputably belonged in the "fates worse than death" category. He couldn't ignore common sense, however, wrinkling his nose as he admitted, "But this isn't exactly the kind of place I'd want to keep the guy. I mean, he's suspicious as hell -but he's not all _that_ bad or anything."

Quatre's eyes widen suddenly. Snapping out of his musing, he stared at the Oracle in disbelief. The man, seemingly knowing exactly what had just occurred to the blond Hufflepuff's mind, met the wondering teal eyes with a sincerely open expression of silent affirmation. "You knew we were going to react like this," the Winner heir said, slightly awed. "You planned for it to happen."

Trowa, catching on, said in surprise. "That's right. The strange home we found..."

"There's probably even more secrets down here to occupy your time," Quatre surmised, his lips breaking into a grudgingly impressed smile. "There must be a phenomenal difference between an Oracle and a Seer."

"That's kind of creepy, Orie," Duo said, making a sour face of discomfort. He absolutely despised being second-guessed. It left him feeling a little uncertain about having as good a hand in the game as he had originally believed.

"And begs to question whether he arranged for a way to avoid the need of a Parselmouth or not," Heero muttered.

"Just a thought," Draco finally broke in with a lazy drawl, casually leaning against the back wall. His posture fairly reeked of boredom and snark. "You could make him swear a Wizard's Oath that he won't leave the grounds. A wizard's word is sacred -he won't be able to negate on the promise without risking death."

"Not a bad idea, dragon boy," Duo said approvingly, finally turning to the quiet man with a smirk. "What about it, Orie? Swear on your honor as a wizard that you won't leave the grounds, and we'll set out looking for that little library you're hankering after. It's an even trade, I think."

"It is more than fair," Orie murmured serenely, nodding his head in accordance. "So be it. I swear to remain on Hogwarts' land for however long you intend to hold me to my oath." With a fond smile, he murmured, "I see no reason to leave it, as Hogwarts has always been a second home to me and mine."

"Alright, case closed," Duo said triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. "Ravenclaw's riddle. Gimmee."

Orie smiled softly at the American's renewed enthusiasm. "She said to me, 'My knowledge reflects between war and peace. With my knowledge, you will know what is to be done.'"

Duo waited. And waited. Finally, when he realized there would be nothing else forthcoming, he wrinkled his nose and huffed. "Man, this is probably going to be a little harder than I thought..." The short, vague riddle left him at a loss as to how to find Ravenclaw's Library; he couldn't even think of a place to begin looking.

"It will not be easy," Orie agreed quietly, nodding his head solemnly. "Just remember -look to the creation for guidance." With that, he gently padded the illuminated manuscript's cover.

Duo sighed. _Guess this means we better get to looking._

And the beginning of a brand new adventure had officially begun.

----------

The greatest thing about their late night excursion into the Chamber of Secrets was that it had been executed on a Saturday night, giving the six of them all of Sunday to prepare and recuperate for their first official day of classes. Most of the student populace seemed to be in good spirits considering that it was a Monday morning. ("The only thing worse than a Monday," Draco could be heard complaining loudly, "is a Tuesday. And tomorrow is going to be _hell_.") In a precedented move, most of the seventh year late-bloomers, plus Draco, had slowly but surely migrated to the Gryffindor table that morning, despite the grumpy blond's better wishes.

Seeing no harm in it, none of the teachers were willing to force standard protocol and encourage the non-Gryffindors to dine at their respective House tables. As long as Draco Black wasn't causing a scene with Ronald Weasley or any other hot-tempered Gryffindor, the staff would overlook the hiccup in the social norm of the student body. Likewise, the other students were used to the unusual comradery between members of their respective Houses, and merely had representatives bring their otherwise seated members their personal timetables.

Due to their seventh year status, the group of unlikely friends had a great deal of classes together, given one or two courses. Trowa and Quatre, for example, had opted to take Care of Magical Creatures, and Wufei and Hermione were taking Ancient Runes. Duo had chosen to bow out of Herbology gracefully, quite sure he didn't want to tempt Professor Sprout into a hysterical frenzy despite having enjoyed it to begin with. Instead, he voted to pursue Arithmancy with Heero, Hermione, and Draco. Ron and Harry wouldn't be taking History of Magic, and Ron was the only one who wouldn't be pursuing (read: tolerate) Potions any longer.

In the middle of trading schedules, Professor Peacecraft glided between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables on his way to the staff table, pausing only long enough to hand Heero a sheet of parchment before continuing on his way. Heero glanced at the parchment for a moment before, forgoing his quill and inkpot in favor of the practical use of a pen, calmly wrote on his own schedule. Once he was finished, he took out his wand and cast a spell, immediately touching his wand to the schedules belonging to Duo, Trowa, Quatre, and finally Wufei.

Wufei made a sound of discontentment when Heero's words appeared on his schedule, apparently in disapproval of the results. With a casual shrug of indifference, Heero calmly handed the Chinese youth the parchment that Professor Peacecraft had handed him.

Duo, noticing the source of the upset spelled out on his own schedule, snickered at Wufei's situation.

"What is it?" Ron asked, his words guttered around a mouthful of eggs. Draco made a sour face at the redhead while the Weasley was otherwise distracted, disgusted by the blatant display of poor table etiquette.

Hermione, quite a bit more vocal, chided sternly, "Ron, don't talk with food in your mouth. It's rude."

It was Ron's turn to make a sour face at Hermione. "You're always telling me that."

"You're always doing it," Hermione shot back, giving her boyfriend an unmitigable glance over the top of her textbook.

"Am not," Ron said defensively, refusing to back down.

"Are too," Draco mumbled snidely, moodily tracing his spoon through his porridge.

"You stay out of this!"

"So, anyway," Harry said loudly, kicking both Ron and Draco under the table in quick succession, causing the warring boys to start and, in Draco's case, yelp in surprise and outrage. "What's up with you five and Professor Peacecraft?"

"You _kicked_ me! You unbelievable bastard!"

Taking a page from Harry's book and ignoring Draco's indignation, Wufei sighed in defeat, handing the parchment back to Heero as he replied heavily, "Nothing that can be helped."

"Why do I still hang out with you people?" Draco muttered sullenly, slumping further in his position and scowling at the table. He seemed to realize his flawed posture and immediately straightened his back and pulled out his shoulders. The Slytherin Prince didn't bloody slump like a plebeian.

"Oh, what rapture," Duo cried exuberantly, eyes twinkling merrily. "Our first class of the day is Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed immediately by a no-doubt fascinating lecture in Muggle Defense."

"Don't rub it in, Maxwell," Wufei said sharply, pushing his plate away from him moodily.

Duo didn't acknowledge the Chinese Ravenclaw's words. "Then it's lunch, rounded off with a bittersweet taste of Double Potions. A fantastic schedule for a fantastic Monday, if I do say so myself."

"Yes!" Ron whooped, pumping a fist in the air triumphantly. "Following lunch, a free period followed by Divination. Though Divination might be dead boring without you, mate," Ron said regretfully, looking at Harry.

Seamus snickered when he overhead the conversation. "Who do you think will become the next victim of Trelawney's prophecies of death and doom now that Harry's escaped her clutches?"

As one, the seventh year Gryffindor boys turned to look piteously at Neville.

"Thanks for making me feel better," Neville said mournfully, his appetite having long left him when he began secretly assuming the same outcome.

"We'll defend you, Nev," Dean promised, clapping the boy on the back.

"Yeah," Ron said confidently. "We won't let that old fraud get to you."

"Do what Heero did when he had to endure Divination," Duo said gleefully. "Just don't react. It's the reaction she's looking for, and she gets huffy when she doesn't get so much as a blink in her direction."

"Me?" Neville said doubtfully, glancing at the quiet Japanese Slytherin who was almost mechanically eating his breakfast without visibly acknowledging his own boyfriend's almost comical suggestions. "Like _Heero_?"

"Hey, why not?" Duo said, laughing. "I mean, you remind me of him a lot, you know? And Hee-chan thinks you can do it, don't you, Hee-chan?"

The Slytherin shrugged his shoulders, clearly not bothered that his boyfriend just compared him to someone most others would consider inept. (On that matter, Draco was openly staring incredulously at the American for suggesting there were any similarities between Heero Yuy and Neville bloody Longbottom.) "If you think you can do it, you can."

"See?" Duo crowed, clapping the blushing Gryffindor on the back. "Just try it. I swear, you'll never stop ignoring her. She hates that with a passion!"

They soon left for their first class of the day in relatively good cheer; even Draco's attitude was remarkably less offensive than normal, though the majority of the Gryffindors were glad to be rid of him when he sat with his Slytherin friends, Harry taking the seat next to him to separate the green-eyed boy's Gryffindor friends from his boyfriend.

"Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts," Sirius Black said boisterously when the students had finally settled into their seats. The Defense classroom was actually rather large; the teacher's desk, upon which sat Professor Milliardo Peacecraft, was pushed against one wall; the chalkboard had also been removed in the same manner, leaving the expansive room open. A strange blue mat covered the floor, starting from just in front of the first row of desks and stretching all the way to the back wall. "I'm Professor Sirius Black, Hogwarts alumni, former Auror, and ex-convict. Those are just some of the numerous infamous titles I can proudly tack onto my resume."

The majority of the class stared at Black in mute disbelief. How could anyone consider 'ex-convict' a label to be worn proudly?

"We have a lot to make up for this year, as it's your final one at Hogwarts," Black continued on, undeterred by his students' skepticism. "I hope you guys are prepared to really pick up the pace. I've had the privilege of reading over your OWL results in Defense Against the Dark Arts -a lot of you seem to be pretty weak in the basics, but you're well informed when it comes to material from third, fourth, and fifth year. Most of you have phenomenal dueling skills, in fact, so I hope you don't mind if we skip the boring first-class-of-the-year lecture and go right into a quick review."

"Ah," Duo piped up, raising his hand sheepishly. "Small problem. I can't duel."

Sirius did a double-take, staring at the boy in disbelief. "_You_ can't duel?" Granted, the boy had only been in the wizarding world for over a year, but with the kind of company he kept, Sirius thought dueling would have been the first thing Duo would brush up on.

"Well, no, I can," Duo said indifferently, "in theory. Filly imagines I'd be quite good at it, in fact, and he says my control has gotten way better. Still, Minnie and Filly strictly forbid me from using magic on animate objects. I have a serious lack of control, and absolutely no magical stamina for it. I can't rely on magic as much as everyone else can."

The phenomenon was rare, but not entirely unheard of. It was especially typical for wizards and witches that were in an undesirable situation for most of their younger years; children who had to depend on their innate magical talents purely for survival under extreme duress. Sometimes, when pondering over his godson's lackluster childhood, Sirius would work himself into a state of mixed rage and remorse when he would think about how Harry had eventually mastered such an advanced spell as the Patronous Charm at such a young age.

The revelation that Duo's case would be so extreme spoke volumes, and Sirius found himself wondering just how miserable the American colonist's life could have been before he came to Hogwarts. Going by the accepted theory, wizards and witches that lived on the space colonies couldn't access their magic because of the disconnection from the Earth. What could it mean then, if Duo had somehow used a strong burst of magic without that connection to save his own life?

"All right, Duo's demoted to cheerleader status. Hate to say it, but I call it as I see it." Sirius smothered a grin and glanced mischievously at the American. To his disappoint (though his amusement remained), Duo grinned enthusiastically and gave the professor a thumb's up and an exaggerated wink.

Cheeky. "The rest of you take the mat and start partnering in groups of two. Any of you who don't find a partner, prepare to be paired by me." The implication of the man's maniacal grin was clear; the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, ex-convict Sirius Black, would do anything for the benefit of having fun -even at the expense of his own students. The Slytherins shifted uneasily, all vowing they would willingly pair up with a _Hufflepuff_, just as long as they didn't have to depend on a glaringly obvious prankster.

Sirius narrowed his eyes when a sudden thought struck him. "Is anyone else restricted from participating in duels?" Though he hadn't intended to single anyone out, his gaze unconsciously focused on Heero when he directed his inquiry.

"Nope," Duo chirped with a grin, leaning back in his chair and threading his fingers behind his head. "I'm just special like that."

"Dangerous, too," Draco muttered in passing, following the flow of the rest of the students as the meandered to the mat. He smirked over his shoulder when Duo loudly blew a raspberry at the passing Slytherin. "I heard his very first spell completely demolished the Charms classroom, and was also responsible for Flitwick's lack of eyebrows at the beginning of our sixth year."

"That's nothing," Ron scoffed. "Our first Charms lesson in sixth year really took the cake."

It hadn't taken the students long to realize that, despite Flitwick's blind optimism, the diminutive professor actually treated Duo's spell-casting with extreme caution; Flitwick often had the other students shift away from wherever Duo would point his wand. Oddly enough, Duo never seemed concerned about what the professor's precautions translated to the other students, and the justification of the Charms' teacher actions was soon proven when Duo first cast a remedial spell.

"Wingardium Leviosa," the American said confidently, every syllable perfectly spoken, and his wand movement precisely accurate to mere degrees. It wasn't a surprise that Duo had no problem learning new languages; in fact, little did anyone know, the colony brat had already been fluent in Latin, courtesy of his first home -the Maxwell Church.

It was not Duo's spellwork that brought weariness to Professor Flitwick, but the fierce lack of control _behind_ it. The feather had not been able to withstand the sheer power behind the spell, and it literally shuddered violently before crumpling over the weight that was meant to lift it into the air. The attending class was struck speechless at the feather, withered and in pieces on the table.

"Oh, dear," Flitwick murmured thoughtfully. "Perhaps something a little heavier..." The diminutive teacher waddled forward and carefully placed a brick a good distance in front of Duo. Then the man scrambled back hurriedly, cheerfully saying, "Now try, Duo."

The Gryffindor shrugged. "Okay. Wingardium Leviosa." Again, flawless. Again, there was a rather atypical effect. The brick flew into the air so effortlessly and at such speed that it slammed into the high arch of the ceiling with such force that webs of cracks branched from where the brick made contact; the brick itself shattered into thick chunks that, instead of falling, actually stuck to the ceiling.

Staring forlornly at his ruined classroom ceiling, Flitwick murmured, "And open skies... Duo, I suggest you practice working on your control outdoors; and certainly not on people."

Adopting an apologetic posture, the Charms professor had kindly said, "I don't mean to make this a spectacle in front of your peers, Duo–"

"Are you kidding? I burned down your classroom trying to light a fire," Duo reminded the man primly, grinning wryly at himself. "I would have been disappointed in you if you hadn't taken as much precaution as possible."

That wasn't to say that Duo didn't do well in the class. After a time, the American quickly developed his magical focus. The effort, however, required fierce concentration that could only be maintained under controlled situations. Dueling was something that required split second decisions that allowed little opportunity to focus so heavily on controlling the power of a spell. A simple Tickling Charm ran the risk of crushing his opponent's ribs and rupturing his or her internal organs. That wasn't a risk they -Flitwick, McGonagall, and Duo -were willing to take until the need to consciously control his violent magic became second nature to the boy.

As it turned out, Sirius thought his first seventh year lesson for the year was a smashing success. Though the students' education was obviously varied and sporadic due to year after year of a different teacher with a different focus, their dueling skills were nearly flawless. Even Duo, despite his lack of participation, would call out helpful tidbits to anyone who seemed to have trouble gaining the upper hand, proving that the boy certainly had a mind for it. (Sirius suspected, hidden mirth boldly dancing in his eyes, that the American was taking his cheerleading status a little too literally.) Duo's primary focus seemed to be on encouraging Neville Longbottom, much to the humble Gryffindor's embarrassment. The American's cheers seemed to work exactly as intended, as Neville actually out-dueled his opponent. ("Duck, Nev! _Now hit 'im where it hurts_! Yeah! Way to go, man, you are a _star_!")

"And that sound marks the end of my class," Sirius said with a lazy grin of self-gratification, obviously patting himself on the back for a job well done. "You have ten minutes to mingle before Professor Milli McHunk takes the stage."

Duo choked loudly before bursting out with a fit of uncontrollable laughter, much to the discomfort of the Lightning Count. So enthralled with his amusement that Heero had to pointedly prod the laughing American (head buried in his arms on the table, shoulders shaking violently with each cackle) into gathering his belongings, Trowa and Quatre already waiting patiently at the door.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked in bafflement, turning to look over his shoulder, arm thrown casually over the back of his chair as he had turned to face Harry in order to better converse with the black-haired boy. "Muggle Defense starts in ten minutes."

Quatre smiled apologetically. "We won't be sticking around, I'm afraid. We're exempt."

"What?" Theodore Nott cried, looking indignantly to the otherwise quiet young Preventer, whose arms were casually crossed as he leaned his hip against the desk he and Sirius were apparently sharing. "Why do the rest of us have to take this class?"

Zechs didn't even bat an eyelash as he replied calmly, "I wouldn't be able to teach them anything they don't already know. They'll each be acting as my assistants for school credit, as this is otherwise a mandatory class. Chang Wufei will be staying today as my assistant."

Though the exchange was more than fair, Nott still appeared to be rather unsatisfied that he had to indulge the insane whim's of the doddering old Headmaster when others did not. Snickering as he shouldered his satchel, Duo cast a smirk at the Lightning Count before drawling, "Have fun, Milli McHunk."

Zechs narrowed his icy blue eyes dangerously at the guiltless American. "I'm perfectly willing to dish out detentions, even to you, Maxwell."

Duo shrugged casually. "It wouldn't help, but I'm happy to hear some teachers are still willing to endure my presence via punishment. Snape's already given it up as a lost cause."

Zechs smirked. "Professor Snape doesn't know that the most effective punishment for someone of your stature is to force you to sit still and silent for over an hour."

The Gryffindor narrowed his eyes contemplatively on the Preventer before conceding with a sly drawl of, "Touche, Birdman." Then he dashed out of the classroom before the Lightning Count could follow through with his implied threat of 'suitable' punishment. The muggle professor silently congratulated himself for winning the verbal spar, despite Duo's parting words. The American was, after all, the one to flee first.

Justin turned to Neville beside him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Is he like that with _all_ of the teachers?" The Hufflepuff often heard rumors of Duo's infamous cavalier attitude with the two professors no one else dared to cross -namely, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape. Professor Sprout seemed to have a paranoid grudge against the Gryffindor, and Madam Pince flinched every time he stepped foot in the library. Justin had even heard of a secret (meaning the Hogwarts Grapevine was aware of every juicy detail) wager between Sinistra and Hooch as to which of the four aforementioned staff members would require an extended vacation courtesy of St. Mungo's first. Once the school betting pool caught wind, everyone was placing gold on who they thought would be the unlucky one.

Currently, Professor Sprout was in the lead. Snape was a close second.

"Pretty much," Neville replied honestly, a year of the unusual behavior fueling just how unconcerned he was. The only reason Duo's casual dismissal of authority was so focused on those that were irritated by it the most was because such brash behavior in the presence of the likes of McGonagall and Snape was nigh unheard of. Duo behaved no differently with any of his professors. Flitwick, in fact, always seemed amused by Duo's enthusiasm for details spun into terms that he, raised so long among muggles, could better understand. Neville vaguely recalled Flitwick giggling over Duo's scientific explanation for Apparition, A. K. A. "The Wormhole Theory."

"Wormhole?" Black had said snidely, present only because the Gryffindors were unlucky enough to have their sixth year Charms class with the Slytherins. "Are you calling us _worms_?"

"No, you science-fiction deprived soul," Duo said sincerely, grinning at the testy Slytherin teasingly. "Remind me to get you a copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_. That'll blow your freaking mind, let me tell you." Effortlessly turning his attention back to his still giggling professor, he said enthusiastic, "Wormholes are created by bending time and space. You can _fold_ time and reality, create a portal, and literally appear from one place to another in the span of a second." Laughing in delight, Duo fell back in his chair with a cry of, "Man! I feel like a super hero! This is so cool!"

Even the Slytherins had been snickering at Duo's exuberance, and the Gryffindor boys were howling with laughter, Harry's a little more reserved than the rest. The girls were tittering cutely behind their hands, and Hermione had been calmly turning the page of her _Standard Book of Spells, 6th Edition_.

The bell sounded in warning of the next lesson beginning, and the students moved back to their respective seats and settled in for another lesson. When the final bell sounded, Sirius parted from Zechs and let the man take the floor, settling on the desk against the wall as the muggle had done during his lecture, silent and watchful.

"The Headmaster introduced me as Professor Milliardo Peacecraft," Zechs began in an even, confident voice, looking over the students casually. "Personally, I don't consider myself a professor, nor do I always respond to Milliardo Peacecraft. I'm an agent in the Preventer Organization -I've been led to believe that's the muggle equivalent to an Unspeakable -and I would prefer it if you called me Agent Marquise, or even Marquise, if that suits you.

"My true profession is in the military -I enlisted when I was fourteen years old, and I was part of the OZ Elite before my nineteenth birthday. After the war ended almost two years ago, I became an active Preventer and the head of security for Vice Foreign Minister Relena Dorlian." He stopped, glancing over the students again. "Are there any questions before I move on?"

Pansy raised her hand in a surprisingly bold show of confidence. "What war?"

_I know people who would pay for this sort of blissful ignorance_. "There was a recent war between the governments of Earth and the colonies. By the end of it, the war had become extremely complicated, and narrowly avoided global catastrophe; the Earth Sphere Alliance and the colonies had no choice but to sit down and negotiated a peaceful solution. Those negotiations are still proceeding to this day." He paused again. "Anything else?"

Several students shook their heads; most didn't even bother to respond.

"Muggle Defense is a cooperative effort between Headmaster Dumbledore and the Vice Foreign Minister to promote a better understanding of exactly how far muggles have advanced in regards to defense, spanning from the ancient martial arts to modernize variations of defense," Marquise explained. "This course covers the terrible what-if. What if you lose your wand? Do you just stand there and give up? Or what if someone takes you by surprise when your wand is not available to you? Will you just allow yourself to be overtaken?" Marquise paused, head tilted to the side. "Or do you fight back? Run away? I know I would never give in without putting up a good struggle. And that is exactly what this course is going to teach you -defense."

Theodore Nott snorted in derision.

Agent Marquise, instead of ignoring Nott's audible outburst, focused his attention entirely on his student. "Is there something you would like to say to the contrary, Mr. Nott?"

The Slytherin lifted his chin proudly, undaunted by being called out by a professor. "Wizards are naturally superior to muggles by the simple fact that there is nothing you can do to counter magic. This class is nothing but a tremendous waste of our time."

The mix of Hogwarts' seventh years were strangely silent, every gaze going between the oddly defiant Theodore Nott to the muggle professor that, by the looks of him, seemed unconcerned with the Slytherin's unspoken challenge to his authority as a teacher.

"I see," Agent Marquise said evenly. "Are you willing to actively prove your theory, Mr. Nott?"

"It's a _fact_," the boy said boldly, refusing to back down from the challenge.

"I'll take that to mean that you'll be volunteering to propagate your theory," Agent Marquise said, blatantly refusing to refer to Nott's words as factual. "Front and center, Mr. Nott, and bring your wand."

The seventh year Slytherin stood confidently from his desk, wand in hand as he came to the edge of the blue mat covering the floor. He frowned when Marquise waved him forward, but walked across the surface of the firm mat to stand a fair distance away from the muggle Preventer.

"Wufei," Marquise called, and the Chinese youth came to the man's side unquestioningly. "Your task is to disarm and detain Mr. Nott without the use of a wand. Mr. Nott," he added, waving his hand toward the boy, "will be using his wand to dissuade you from doing so. Keep in mind that this is a demonstration, and both of you will be suitably punished should you attempt to seriously harm each other. Disarm and detain -that should be the only goal for either of you."

The class broken into excited whispers that died away as quickly as was born when the Preventer turned his icy gaze toward the rest of them. Then the man stood back, glancing at the fair amount of distance between the two students who turned to face each other. Back stiff, Wufei bowed at the waist at his opponent before taking a defensive stance.

"This is a legitimate duel, Mr. Nott," Sirius piped lazily, having been silent the entire time. Judging by the manic gleam in the man's dark eyes, he was fairly interested in just how this was going to turn out. "Return the favor."

With a grudging sneer, Nott quickly bowed and readied himself into the standard dueling position.

"Begin," Marquise barked; with a burst of unbelievable speed, Wufei rushed forward and, before Nott had the opportunity to even finish his wand movement, had the other boy's wrist firmly grasped in a secure grip. The spell on the Slytherins' lips bled into a cry of surprise when Wufei's thumb administered pressure to his wrist. His fingers immediately jerked, dropping the useless wand on the mat. Faster than Nott could register, the Chinese youth kicked the back of the Slytherin's knees and twisted the boy's arm behind his back, firmly putting the boy to his knees and forcing the Slytherin's cheek against the mat with a firm hand to keep him there.

"You were taken off guard, Mr. Nott," Marquise said somberly when Wufei released the boy and moved away. Humiliated, the Slytherin grabbed his wand from the floor and shot an acidic glare at the stoic Ravenclaw. "Try again."

With a sniff of frustration, Nott took up his dueling stance again. Not the least bit intimidated by the dark glare that had permanently taken residence on the Slytherin's face, Wufei casually relaxed into his defensive crouch.

The next time, Nott managed to execute half of his spell before Wufei reached him. The Slytherin faltered when, unexpectedly, the Chinese youth dropped to the floor and swept Nott's feet out from him with a wide sweep of his leg. The students gasped in winced when Nott's back slammed into the firm mat. Wufei kicked the wand from the winded seventh years reach, prodded the dazed Slytherin to turn over before firmly planting his knee in the small of Nott's back, twisting the boy's arms behind his back.

"That was better," Marquise praised sincerely when Wufei dislodged himself from Nott. The Slytherin was slower to come to his feet this time, obviously winded and left feeling uncertain about the possibility of actually besting Wufei. The Slytherin glanced at the muggle Preventer, frowning in befuddlement over being praised for losing. "You reacted much faster than the first time. You faltered when Wufei used a different approach, but such things are to be expected when you're learning something foreign." The muggle man raised a finger, adding, "I want you to try one more time."

Nott's frown deepened, but he didn't protest. Instead, he inhaled deeply and took up his stance again.

The third time, Nott actually managed to complete his Binding Hex before Wufei came into striking distance; the elation was short lived, however, when Wufei merely swept to the side, dodging the spell as he took advantage of the blind opening, grabbing Nott's extended arm and twisting it behind the boy's back, once again prodding the boy to his knees. It was the support of his second arm that kept his face from meeting the mat for a second time.

Wufei released him and moved away, leaving the Slytherin on his knees. Seemingly satisfied with the results, Agent Marquise knelt to the defeated and humiliated pureblood's side. "Let me adequately define a fact by a muggle's standpoint, Mr. Nott," he said, soft enough to consider the conversation private, but loud enough for the rest of the astounded students to hear. "A fact is hard, concrete evidence, indisputably accepted as an absolute truth. A theory, on the other hand, is a hypothetically proposed idea that needs solid facts to support it. Your unsupported truth, in this case, will not merit a grain of salt until you can best Chang Wufei without resorting to so-called 'muggle' defense tactics.

"However," Marquise added, finally allowing a small, approving smile spread across his lips, "you got back up and tried again. You improved. A sad few of your classmates could have done better in your situation."

The muggle Preventer stood to his full height before offering the Slytherin a helping hand. Resolutely ignoring the offer, the boy stubbornly climbed to his feet under his own power, refusing to so much as glance at the Preventer. Clearly not bothered by his student's refusal to acknowledge that any sort of lesson had been learned, Agent Marquise let his outstretched hand fall to his side before he addressed the rest of the class.

"Some of you may agree with Mr. Nott's theory -that muggles, like me, are inferior to you in every way imaginable." With a short moment of silence, the Preventer swept his eyes from one raptly fascinated face to another, mentally picking out the ones who would most likely be giving him trouble after this insult to their pride. "This way of thinking is dangerous and could get you and every one you love killed. Wufei had a total of three opportunities to deliver a fatal blow to Mr. Nott, all by using his advanced training in what we muggles call martial arts.

"Nonetheless, Mr. Nott showed a marked improvement in his technique, and even managed to complete a spell on his third attempt," Marquise added, seemingly quite impressed and enthused with the Slytherin's success despite the loss. "It's expected that none of you will advance as far as Wufei, since he's spent quite a bit of his young life training in various styles of the martial arts. Still, Mr. Nott demonstrated the exact purpose of this class -to improve and learn. Twenty points to Slytherin House."

He pretended to ignore Nott's bewildered stare as the Slytherin House murmured approvingly. Draco thought it was a rather brilliant move on Marquise's part; the muggle managed to teach his pupil a lesson and still find room to praise his achievements. It was almost guaranteed that the Slytherins would begin to think a little better of the muggle for saving their housemate face in front of a collective group of the four Houses of Hogwarts. Not even that Weasel and Finnigan were mocking Nott for his humiliation.

He turned back to Nott, murmuring, "You may return to your seat, Mr. Nott." Still a little weary of the unexpected praise, the seventh year silently went to his seat without meeting anyone's eyes, lost in his own thoughts.

Once the class had settled down, he began, "Martial arts is physical combat that can be initiated either hand-to-hand, as Chang Wufei demonstrated, or one can utilize weapons to suit their needs. The focus of this class will be basic self-defense; while my assistants and I will be showing you examples of more dangerous variations of the martial arts, I'm not willing to give lethal weapons to misguided _children_ who refuse to acknowledge that every action has a consequence.

"Along with improving your physical health, increasing your stamina, and bettering the odds of you walking away from a battle relatively unhurt and intact, I'll be taking the opportunity to show you examples of what muggles can and will do if they come under attack."

"Sir!" Hermione exclaimed, startling the students by her unusual outburst. "Agent Marquise, is that really a good idea? I mean..." She glanced uneasily at several of the purebloods in her class, especially the Slytherins.

"I don't want to scare anyone," the Preventer said evenly, meeting the eyes of his students somberly. "And a lot of you will be troubled about that particular part of the class. Your entire culture has been focused on thinking that muggles are harmless, inferior people that can be easily put down without much effort." With a small sigh, he closed his eyes for a moment before returning to his lecture. "As an elite soldier, I cannot allow any of you to head into a conflict with muggles without informing you of the likely consequences."

He went to the teacher's desk resting against the wall across the room, picking up a stack of thick, hard-cover green textbooks. "Some of you may have been under the mistaken impression that there wouldn't be any reading in this class. Sorry to disappoint you," he said with a wry smile, "but that's not the case."

Several students -most notably Ronald Weasley and Seamus Finnigan -moaned in disappointment. Stifling his amusement, Agent Marquise continued, "I've taken the liberty of purchasing your textbook for you, as you would not have been able to buy the required reading from a wizarding bookstore. Tonight, for homework, you'll all read the introduction chapter. We'll review over the contents of the chapter for the first twenty minutes of class on Wednesday before we begin the first day of your workout."

Pansy peered between the cover of her copy of the textbook (sporting a simple, one word title -_War_ by Walter McGee) with uneasy curiosity. "The pictures don't move."

"Consider that a blessing," Agent Marquise murmured darkly, thinking of the annoyingly haughty portrait of a woman in his private suite. "I can't get the portraits to shut up. Frankly, I don't know how you tolerate it."

----------

Class was dismissed not long after Professor Marquise assigned their homework, and the students eagerly and ravenously escaped to the Great Hall in a swarm of excitedly chattering students taking their first break from the first classes of the year.

"Hey, guys," Duo greeted cheerfully when his fellow Gryffindor seventh years took their seats at the table. "How was Milli McHunk in his first class? I have money riding on whether he managed to teach Theodore a lesson." He didn't, really, but only because the other three wouldn't accept the bet.

"Wufei put him down," Harry said, grinning at the memory as he served himself a healthy serving of potatoes. "Three times. It was fantastic, but Agent Marquise gave him twenty points for actually managing to fire off a spell the third time around."

"What was he talking about with that scary consequences stuff, anyway?" Ron mumbled around a thick bite of a soft, warm roll that had already found its way into his mouth as he dished himself a large portion of roast.

"I don't agree with it," Hermione said vehemently, frowning at the front of her textbook in concern. "I know he's just trying to help the purebloods understand why creating conflict with muggles would be a terrible idea, but fear-mongering isn't the answer!"

Duo's face cleared of confusion and, with an air of understanding, he said, "Oh. That. Can I see your book, Hermione?" He cracked the cover open when Hermione handed it to him, scanning the table of contents before confidently flipping to a page. After searching for a moment, he stood up and leaned over the table, holding the book open right in front of Ron's face.

Ron blinked, staring nonplused at the pile of rubble and ruin that the large picture portrayed. "What's that?"

"That," Duo said, still holding the book open for Ron to look at, "was once a flourishing city in Japan called Hiroshima. Japan dropped bombs on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, even though the United States was neutral as far as the war was concerned. In return, the United States dropped the first atomic bomb. Ground zero was obliterated, and anything beyond that was taken out by the shockwave."

Ron, freckles clashing horribly with his pallid skin, gulped and looked at the picture again. _No way..._ "That used to be... a city?"

Duo snapped the book shut and handed it back to Hermione with an apologetic smile. "I probably just spoiled Zechs' ace in the hole. Basically, if the wizards bite muggles, Zechs is going to try to make sure you're well aware that muggles are well within their rights to try and bite back harder."

Ron stared at Duo before glancing over to the Slytherin table. "Oh, hell, they're not going to take this well." Then, with an accusing tone in his voice, he sniped, "Jeez, Harry, Mione -why didn't you ever _tell_ me?"

Harry blinked, his fork hesitating in its journey to his mouth as he considered Ron's inquiry. "I never really thought about it. The war was something my relatives complained about, and I never really tried to be interested in what they had to say."

Hermione, who clearly had thought about it, said guiltily, "I didn't want to scare you." Then, with a grimace, she admitted, "And I didn't want to mention it because you would have trivialized it. You wouldn't have done it intentionally, but you would have done it, nonetheless."

"Well, yeah, maybe," Ron muttered grudgingly, planting his elbows on the table with a frown. "Why wouldn't the Ministry tell us about these things? I mean, they've got to know, right?"

"Some of them probably do," Duo said, shrugging. "The muggleborns, anyway. The Ministry doesn't go out of its way to tell you how dangerous muggles are because they don't want you to feel threatened or scared. They probably think that as long as the wizarding world believes the muggles are harmless, there won't be any disastrous results. Unfortunately, it's had an opposite but similar effect; the purists think muggles are weak and stupid and resent having to hide from them. I mean, let's face it, man. You purebloods don't really respect muggles at all."

"That's not true," Ron said hotly, glaring at Duo.

"Oh, yeah, you think they're all right," Duo said, giving the boy an apologetic smile. "I'm not saying you think muggles are stupid and weak, Ron -you just don't _respect_ them. If at any time you've ever come across a muggle and thought to yourself 'silly muggle' just because they reacted differently to something that any other wizard wouldn't bat an eyelash at, you are unintentionally belittling muggles. It's not even your fault, really, since it's the kind of behavior you've learned from wizarding society."

"Which doesn't mean you have an excuse to not improve that sort of behavior," Hermione added, looking at Duo thankfully for defusing the redhead's temper. "Duo probably just ignores it because he likes you. I think it's irritating."

Duo snickered, grinning impishly at Hermione. "Guess the pros of Birdman's class far outweigh the cons, eh, Hermione?"

The bushy-haired girl didn't acknowledge Duo's teasing rejoinder, instead taking the opportunity to finally turn her attention to her food. She couldn't stop a reluctant smile from flittering across her lips when she heard Duo crow with triumphant laughter, overjoyed at winning a point over Hermione Granger.

_You really are the absolute limit, Duo_.

----------

The seventh year Double Potions class was perhaps the most eventful, most _frustrating_ introduction class that any teacher could possibly experience; it was just bad luck that it would happen to Severus, and the inclusion of forced interaction with Duo Maxwell didn't better his odds. (Well, that, and a lot of careful scheming on the American's part.)

Black eyes burning with cold fury, the Potions Master looked so very close to actually laying hands on his otherwise unconcerned student. In fact, Maxwell appeared vaguely pleased with his accomplishments, despite the fact he was now the owner of a ruined cauldron and solely responsible for the table on which the melted metal sealed itself to. "Maxwell," he grounded out through gritted teeth, "what the _hell_ were you thinking?"

The few Hufflepuffs gasped, whispering amongst themselves. The Slytherins appeared suitably impressed that the Gryffindor had yet to burst into flames. The Ravenclaws (and Hermione) were irritated that progress had been thwarted, and the rest of the Gryffindors were all visibly choking on their amusement. The Gryffindors that failed to disguise their persistent snickering were soon silenced by a quick, evil glare from the Potions Master.

Maxwell shrugged nonchalantly, completely oblivious to the black soot that caked his face. "Not a whole lot, actually. I wanted to see what would happen if I tossed in a couple of volatile, non-mixy ingredients. Now I know -it makes big booms." With an askance look to his ruined cauldron, he airily added, "It apparently also melts cauldrons."

_Spirits save me from stupid Americans_, Severus thought spitefully, his evil eye increasing tenfold. "The thought of asking me never once passed through your pea brain?"

"Of course it did," the Gryffindor said insouciantly, waving a soot-covered hand around the vicinity of his ear in a casual gesture of dismissal. "You would have droned on and on about reactions and combinations and precautions, using big words and a tone that would imply that I'm an idiot for wanting to know. This way, I get my answer in a more simplified form -ergo, it makes big booms. See? Short, sweet, and to the point. Moving on."

"Oh, God," Severus heard Finch-Fletchly mutter in amazement. "The rumors are true."

Rumors? Oh, hell, Maxwell's praises were being sung throughout the Hogwarts Grapevine. Severus' carefully cultivated reputation, patiently harvested through years of derision, favoritism and growing ill temper for anyone who wasn't of his house, was quickly swirling down the drain. And it was all bloody Maxwell's fault.

"It's the first day of class," Severus snarled, becoming more and more incensed by the second. "What possessed you to bring your personal potions ingredients and your equipment when you knew I would be reviewing?" Then, not even giving the American a chance to answer, he raised his hand to stave off the boy's no doubt witty response, saying in disgust, "No, forget it. I don't even want to know. Fifty points from Gryffindor and two weeks of detention."

Granger groaned in frustration.

Maxwell, unperturbed (in fact, oddly pleased with himself), said boldly, "I'll get them back."

Vile little upstart.

The rest of the class went off without a hitch, and Maxwell was the model student for the remainder of the evening. He was attentive, back straight and head held high in keen interest, obediently taking down thorough notes. He also actively sought to participate in class, going as far as to raising his hand and asking surprisingly insightful, intelligent questions in such a way that it encouraged the rest of the class to sit up and take notice.

It wasn't as if Maxwell was a terrible student. In fact, Severus was under the impression that Maxwell was the only Gryffindor aside from Granger who understood anything that Severus sought to force into the empty skulls of his otherwise talent-less students' skulls (excepting Draco Black, Blaise Zabini, a handful of Ravenclaws, Hannah Abbot, and the rest of the members of Maxwell's unit). However, he trusted his instinct, and Severus' instinct suspected that Maxwell had gotten exactly what he had wanted out of the Potions Master.

For the last ten minutes of class, the derisive professor cast occasional glances of suspicion in the American's direction, only to be met with smiling eyes and a secretive smirk. What was the little deviant up to?

"You guys go on ahead," Severus heard Maxwell instruct his little posse casually. The man could see the boy hitch the strap of his book satchel higher on the graceful arch of his shoulder. "I gotta talk to Sexy about my detention. I'll see you guys at dinner."

Potter sent a pointed glance in Severus' direction before saying dryly, "We won't hold our breaths."

At least the little idiot had some common sense. Maxwell, however, proved that he was lacking in that area when he laughed off Potter's words. "Aw, c'mon, Harry. Sevy's a pussycat if you stroke him the right way." Grinning wickedly, he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Potter.

Potter looked vaguely disgusted at the implication. "Ew. And with that unappetizing imagery, we're leaving now."

When the last student finally fled the confines of the Potions classroom, the American shouldered his bag and casually sauntered up to Severus' desk, grinning unrepentantly at the Potions Master's dark expression. Raising one eyebrow pointedly, he drawled, "Two weeks? I'm almost touched. I must be growing on you, Sevy."

"Like a malignant tumor," Severus said haughtily, snapping the thick textbook on lying open on his desk shut with one hand before he crossed his arms over his chest. "What the devil are you up to, Maxwell?"

"See, that's why you're my favorite," Maxwell said boastfully. "You always know there's a secret agenda. A method to my madness, if you will. Of course, you meddling in my affairs is exactly what I don't need, so I'll be completely up-front with you, Sev." With a truly apologetic smile, Maxwell admitted, "I have no intention of actually serving detention with you. I know; you must be heartbroken as most people are when I have to cancel dates, but I'm a well-kept man."

Cheeky brat. "Actually, I intend to have you serve detention with Filch," Severus said flatly.

Maxwell winced. "Yelch. You weren't kidding about that malignant tumor thing, were you?"

The more he had to tolerate Maxwell's presence, the more Severus desperately wanted to give in and throttle the smart-mouthed little git. "Give me a good reason as to why I shouldn't sign your two weeks' detention over to Filch and be done with it, Maxwell." _Tell me what you're up to, you little snotnosed brat_.

"Okay," Maxwell said agreeably, casually stepping closer so as to speak very softly. Severus, unaccustomed to anyone standing so close to him, was immediately put on edge. He knew very well that Maxwell was a dangerous opponent, as even Dumbledore admitted that he preferred Quatre's strategically crippling approach to the cold fury of one Duo Maxwell. Even without that knowledge, Severus was starkly aware by Nott Sr.'s bold admittance that the boy was no stranger to killing, just as ruthless as Heero Yuy had been when he killed Avery and mangled Nott's knee to the point that the man would be haunted by a troublesome limp for the rest of his life.

"I'm going to be looking for a library," Maxwell said softly, a smug grin on his face as he added, "A secret library that reputably belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw herself."

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Secret rooms were notorious at Hogwarts, and Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets had been the most sought after legend passed down by word of mouth. There had never been mention of the possibility of the other Founders having such private hidden enclaves, and the Potions Master found it hard to believe that any should exist. Why would Slytherin's Chamber gain such widespread attraction, and not something as grandiose as a private library? "There's no such thing."

"My source came a very long way to convince me otherwise," Maxwell said with a secretive grin. "I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt. In any case, if I'm going to be free to look for the library, I'm going to need an excuse to leave the tower in the evening."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Thus the reason you decided to foolishly mix volatile potions' ingredients in my class?"

"Basically," Maxwell admitted with a sheepish shrug. "I mean... Well, c'mon, Sevy. You really started getting used to my typical behavior at the end of last year. If I actually wanted detention, I was going to have to step it up a notch."

He hated that the boy was right; for any other minor offense that he couldn't tolerate in his cowed students, Maxwell would have gotten off with a slap on the wrist purely because Severus just didn't want to deal with the headache of dealing with the boy more than he absolutely had to. "Get out of my sight, Maxwell."

The boy raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Does that mean there will be no detention with Filch?"

Severus narrowed his eyes threateningly at the Gryffindor. "Don't make me regret inactively helping you. The detentions, by the way, will still remain on your permanent record."

"I guess that's fair," Maxwell said casually, shouldering his backpack with a bright smile. "Thanks, Sexy! I'll make it up to you one day. Promise!"

"I'd rather you just go away," Severus said flatly. "Now."

Laughing gaily over his shoulder (and delivering a saucy wave), the American nearly skipped out of the room in his jubilation. He didn't leave soon enough, however, as he lingered long enough to drawl, "Pleasure doing business with you, Sev."

The Potions Master was immediately left alone to stew over his misfortune. _Spirits save me from nosy Gryffindors..._

_**END CHAPTER TWELVE**_

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**(1) No, I did NOT coin this phrase from Doctor Who... It just sounded cooler than 'Time Mage.' :_pouts and mutters something about watching too much science fiction shows_:**

**I have these really fun, unique characterizations of the Four Founders toiling around in my brain. I'm kind of excited about it, actually. :_gleefully rubs her hands together_: This is going to be oh so very amusing. Mwahah...**

**Thirty-nine pages! Yeah! That more than makes up for the long wait!**

**... Right?... :_looks uncertain_: Er... Author craves feedback.**


	13. Much Ado About Quidditch

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Hah! LESS than a month between updates! Go me. :_grins_: I can almost excuse the fact that it's half past four in the morning and I have to work tomorrow. (But I'm still gonna be feeling THIS one tomorrow...)**

**Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you like the latest chapter!**

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_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Thirteen**_

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Astronomy was perhaps the most unusually scheduled course that Hogwarts had to offer. For one, students were only required to attend once a week, and it was for three hours. One unfortunate condition to this special case was that all four houses were strongly represented in a single period at the same time. Professor Sinistra had the luckiest break of any teacher that would normally dread having paired classes. The students were usually too tired, yawning over their individual steaming mugs of hot, black coffee to make a fuss over house standings. The class was held at midnight, of course, and ran until two in the morning. No one was in a mood to do much of anything in the way of antagonization.

The exception to this rule of behavior, however, was any period that involved Draco Black. His crankiness tended to rub off on everyone, even the teacher herself. There had been many times she had been tempted to throw her own mug of scalding coffee at the cranky little son of a bitch. This is a direct quote from the woman herself when she broke down during Draco's fourth year and ranted about all of the horrible, terrible things she wanted to do to the smarmy aristocrat. Some of the things she fantasized about doing even shocked Severus Snape, who was well versed in terrible ways to make people suffer.

Draco Black was to Professor Sinistra the equivalent of Duo Maxwell to Professor Sprout and Harry Potter to Severus Snape. However, while Professor Snape only sought to punish the Boy Who Lived, and Professor Sprout was just overly paranoid about "that Maxwell menace's" interest in her students, Professor Sinistra was both paranoid _and_ vengeful. And she wanted him to suffer.

_Now_. Not later.

So, as a result, Draco Black was shocked into silence when Professor Sinistra threw a rock at him. The seventh years, as one, stared at him with varying expressions of dumfounded disbelief, abject terror, and bleary befuddlement. (The last, sadly, was because they'd been very close to snoozing at that point. Some didn't seem to have the presence of mind to take a nap before Astronomy, and therefore missed the entire spectacle.)

Then Duo started cackling like a madman, nearly falling out of his chair in laughter, only to be saved when he threw himself against Heero. The usually somber Japanese Slytherin, in a rare show of emotion, was smiling in amusement more over his boyfriend's hilarity than Sinistra throwing a rock at Draco to shut him up. The reaction spread, and even the confused students found themselves laughing at Draco's stupefied "I can't believe she just did that!" expression.

Sinistra, black eyes glittering with malicious glee, patted her large bucket of rocks that sat directly on a table beside her podium for easy access. In a sweet, gloating voice, she said, "Now, Mr. Black, when I call your name during roll, you will _not_ respond by saying 'where the bloody hell else would I be, asleep?' Do you understand, or must I waste mine and everybody else's time by explaining it in simpler terms?"

"You threw a _rock_ at me," Draco exploded in indignation. "You can't throw a rock at me, I can press charges! Ow, bloody -you did it again!"

She picked up another rock and tossed it into the air before snatching it back without taking her eyes off of Draco. "None of your backsass today, Mr. Black. I am not in the mood for it."

As one, anyone sitting anywhere remotely near the stewing Slytherin quickly fled out of harms way, either under the impression that Draco would result to a physical assault of his own or driven by compulsion to keep themselves from being hit by stray rocks. Harry smiled sheepishly when Draco gave him a dirty glance for moving farther away, shrugging and attempting a facade of complacent innocent. It was his way of assertively informing his recalcitrant boyfriend that if he was going to further provoke a woman who was ready to throw rocks in the first place, Harry wasn't going to stick his neck out and act as a human shield.

Then, rock still in hand, she turned her attention back to her roster and called out sweetly, "Millicent Bulstrode? Where is Ms. Bulstrode?" Her eyes searched the myriad of faces, successfully seeking out the unusually stocky girl. Millicent was staring back at the woman in worshipful reverence; finding a way to tame Slytherin House's infamous Cranky Dragon was nothing short of a miracle, in Millicent's books. "There you are, dear. Drink some more coffee, Ms. Bulstrode, it'll perk you right up."

And, perhaps for the first time since their first year in Astronomy, Draco Black's fellow year mates had a relatively peaceful class. Boring, but a marked improvement from the usual upset Draco caused by lashing out because of sleep deprivation.

----------

Wednesday's Muggle Defense class marked the occasion of a very unusual practice that most of the purebloods came to dread. Instead of simply waiting until Agent Marquise began his lecture, he calmly handed them wrapped parcels and requested that, in groups of five girls and five boys, they would each go to the nearest bathroom and change into the outfits he provided them. Bemused by this turn of events, the first group of students dismissed themselves to the lavatory to do as they were asked. When they came back five minutes later, the girls clutching their outer robes tightly around themselves as the boys tugged self-consciously at their knee length wind-slicker shorts (thankfully boasting their respective house colors) and simple white T-shirts. Duo, who had the unfortunate luck to be stuck with staying for this time around, had a greater idea of where Zechs' was going with this.

He grinned approvingly at the man. "Oh, you wicked, wicked man."

Agent Marquise raised an eyebrow cooly at the American before he handed the boy his own parcel. "This one is special." Then he shooed his assistant away along with the rest of his class.

Again, five minutes passed; the girls who had already changed were still warily clutching their robes about them when the rest of the students came back. Hermione Granger, likewise clutching her outer robe to her body, said haughtily, "Agent Marquise, these clothes are really indecent!"

"No, they're not," Marquise parried with a small smirk. "The clothes I've provided you are standard issue for any boarding school with a proper physical education class. This is Muggle Defense, Ms. Granger -the lot of you are going to be breaking a little more than just a mental sweat."

"Cripes," Ron muttered, snickering as he glanced at Draco. "You are one pale little git, Black."

Draco shot the redhead a disgusted sneer before, his voice loud and echoing, he complained, "Agent Marquise, Weasley's exposing his freckles. Make him stop. It's revolting."

"Be glad I had your workout clothes House-specified," Marquise said lazily, casually leaning against the desk he and Sirius shared. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was snickering into his palm at Pansy Parkinson, who was obviously very proud of her assets and was showing all that she wasn't body-shy at all. Her green shorts cut at about mid-thigh, and her shirt displayed her ample bosom and curves proudly. Pansy's preening, of course, emboldened most of the other girls to remove their outer robes as well, smiling coyly when some of the boys, most flushing horribly, began sneaking glimpses of them at the corner of their eyes.

"Duo gets to wear trousers," Draco pointed out insistently. "Be realistic -the sight of the Weasel's freckly legs is making me nauseous."

"Then stop looking at them, you git," Ron snapped, held back only by the collective effort of Harry and Seamus.

Duo's new outfit did separate him from the rest of the class; instead of windbreaker shorts, he was wearing loose white sweat pants that cuffed around his ankles, allowing him a lot of room to maneuver in. He wore a black wife-beater that displayed his lithe muscles for any and all to ogle, and block white letters that spelled out "ASSISTANT" were ironed across the top of the back; thankfully, most of the word was obscured by his thick braid. The others, unfortunately, wouldn't be so lucky.

"Wufei's going to kill you if you make him wear this," Duo said calmly, dropping his bag next to his desk. The "special" clothing obviously mimicked the Chinese Ravenclaw's preferred style of dress; the almost mocking word across the back would only serve to irritate the boy.

"See me quiver," Marquise replied dryly before waving the students to their seats.

"I see you've all made it back," the Preventer said, mildly pleasant. "Good. We'll all launch into reviewing Monday's required reading. Mr. Weasley," he called, immediately seeking out the distracted redhead sneaking covert glance toward Hermione, who had finally given in and had taken her fellow female classmates' example. The boy snapped to guiltily, his face turning a none-too-subtle red. "Define physical defense."

"Uh, well," Ron said hesitantly, looking a little uncertain. "It's using your body to... protect yourself?"

Marquise mouth tilted at the corners; a small sign of the man's amusement. "I'll accept that on the grounds that you are correct. Next time, however, please form your answer as a statement, not a question. Ms. Parkinson," Marquise called, immediately swiveling his attention to the girl, having noticed her blowing a kiss and winking at Duo in a teasing manner. Duo, in response, was grinning from ear to ear and visibly struggling to hold his laughter at bay. "Give me one example of physical defense."

The Slytherin, unabashed, literally purred when she murmured confidently, "One example is martial arts, which you had Chang demonstrate Monday." Then, with a proud toss of her head, she continued, "Of course, there are many styles of martial arts, some of which incorporate weaponry such as swords or long wooden sticks. These martial arts are more traditional for Eastern cultures, but the Western World also utilized swords and fighting styles as well, one of which even purebloods practice -fencing."

Marquise appeared suitably impressed. "Someone has been reading ahead."

"Ravenclaws aren't the only ones allowed to be thirsty for knowledge," Pansy responded demurely, still exuding a certain amount of pride in herself. After Wufei and Nott's little performance, she'd found herself morbidly interested in how the odds played out. It didn't hurt that she actively pursued Heero, Trowa, and (surprisingly) Draco to "dumb down" what she didn't understand about it. In fact, it had been Draco who had informed her that fencing, something pureblood aristocratic boys were destined to pick up learning in early childhood, had very muggle roots, as well.

As promised on Monday, Marquise spent the first twenty minutes reviewing in this same manner. Instead of allowing the students to volunteer their answers, he would first call on them, seemingly at random. Then he would pose his inquiry, and instead of denouncing students for not doing their homework as assigned when it was obvious they didn't know the answers, he would take a short moment to explain the answer.

Once the muggle was satisfied with their comprehension, he moved straight into the main portion of his lesson. "Today we're going to start our first official day of improving your physical fitness and increasing your stamina." He paused, glancing over the faces of his students pointedly. "I'm not going to lie to you. This portion of the class isn't going to win me any brownie points from a number of you, and you'll be cursing the day I set foot in your world in the morning. By the end of the semester, however, every single one of you will show a marked improvement in your overall health, and we'll finally be ready to teach you basic defense. Until then, we take baby steps."

Marquise was right. The next portion of the class was physically grueling, starting off small with innocent stretches to limber their muscles. That was all fine and well until the Preventer introduced sit ups, crunches, and jumping jacks. A myriad of different exercises later, Marquise led them outside and ordered them to run around the perimeter of the castle in five complete laps. He even promised that they could complete the fifth lap at a brisk walk; however, that only seemed to prolong the torture.

When the last student stumbled across the line, knees wobbly and chest heaving, Marquise took pity on them. "You have thirty minutes to hit the showers before lunch. I promise it will help."

Grumbling, the students took their chances to wash away the sweat before they trudged to the Great Hall, nearly falling into their seats and wolfing down their meals. They attended Potions a little worse for wear (a lucky few, like Ron Weasley, were able to sleep it off), but they really didn't start feeling the effects of their strenuous workout until after dinner, when the first signs of the physical strain kicked in.

"I hurt," Ron mumbled piteously, sprawled across his bed with a pained grimace on his face as his muscles protested vehemently. "I hurt in places I didn't even know could hurt."

"It can't be that different from Quidditch practice," Duo mumbled, actually feeling rather refreshed from the taxing workout. He took a moment to seriously consider the differences between honest exercise and participating in a sport that didn't require much in the way of running and grimaced. "Then again..."

"It'll only last for a few days," Harry promised, equally unaffected by their workout. He had been training with Draco and Wufei for over a month, after all. "You're just sore because you aren't used to it."

Seamus groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "I cannae imagine what we'll be doing Friday," he said thickly. "It's torture, I tell you."

The soreness did fade.

Eventually.

----------

Only two weeks into the new school year, the Gryffindor Quidditch team decided to hold their tryouts. Most of the positions were filled already, but due to Katie Bell's graduation just last year, they were short one Chaser. Still, in the spirit of the game of which he held so dear in his heart, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain Ronald Bilius Weasley decided it would only be fair to have the rest of the team tryout with the hopefuls. In a bold move, he'd devised a plan to pluck some of the younger hopefuls for a second string, having them prepped and ready in the case that one of the first string team members were put out of the game.

Even he was surprised, however, when amongst the younger hopefuls for the coveted Chaser position, he found one Duo Maxwell beaming excitedly at him, his arms hooked around the moderately new and expensive Nimbus 3000 broom that was supported by his neck and shoulders in the imitation of a scarecrow.

"Er," Harry ventured hesitantly, "you're trying out, Duo?" Harry had no doubt that Duo would be an excellent Quidditch player; he'd seen the boy fly only on a handful of occasions, and it was safe to say that the late-bloomer knew his way around a broom. However, Duo should have been aware that the odds of a seventh year gaining a position on the Quidditch team were stacked against him, no matter how good he was. The team needed players that would have the experience to continue on when the seventh years graduated.

"Something like that," Duo said cheerfully, grinning lopsidedly. "What can I say? I'm a sports addict, and AD won't let me play basketball in the Great Hall." That hadn't stopped the American from attempting to rally at least eighteen students in order to play a friendly game of baseball. At least Quidditch was a game executed while flying, and Duo _loved_ flying.

"You must know the chances of you making it as Chaser aren't very high, right?" Ginny pointed out, glancing skeptically at the bouncing boy beside her.

"Yeah, I figured as much," Duo said with a rueful grin, taking his broom in hand and firmly thumping the end of it against the turf. "But the other guys are trying out for Quidditch, and I didn't want to be the odd man out. Being a spectator just isn't any fun."

Ron felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Eyes wide and face pale, he glanced uncertainly at Harry, who appeared equally concerned about this revelation. "The others?" he probed weakly.

"Yep," Duo said, nodding. "Quatre and Trowa are going for Keeper positions, Heero's leaning toward the Beater position, and I think Wufei likes the Seeker bit. I don't know for certain about Wufei, though, because he was considering the open Chaser position on the Ravenclaw team, as well."

"Harry," Ron hissed, pulling his friend closer to whisper secretively on his friend's ear. "What are the chances of Black putting Trowa and Heero on the Slytherin team?"

"Does it matter?" Harry hissed back, reluctant to admit that such an event was almost guaranteed -Draco knew better than anyone just how capable the late-bloomers could be. "I've seen their reflexes, Ron -they're good. Damn good. Trowa's quick and sneaky, and I imagine a Bludger hit by Heero would do some devastatingly accurate damage. Wufei and Quatre aren't slackers, either." Not to mention the fact that Quatre could calculate strategies and counter-strategies in his sleep, and Wufei pursued winning with a single-minded determination that nearly matched Harry's zeal. "If _any_ of them make it on their House Quidditch teams, we may have to work harder than ever before to stay on top."

Ron stifled a groan, rubbing his forehead with a wince. "And Duo would know those four best. We have to get him on the team." Any other course would be suicide.

"He'll have to try out," Harry amended reluctantly, "but at this point, he's our best bet." And it wasn't like Duo was a terrible player; he would have been a boon for the team otherwise. The fact that the others would be going the same route only countered the issue of age verses eligibility.

"Why do I get the feeling that you planned this?" Ginny murmured coyly, watching as her brother and his friend held their hushed, private debate.

Duo's eyes widened innocently. "Why, what do you mean, dear Ginerva? You know Heero. If he doesn't do bodily harm every once in a while, he gets a bit cranky and paranoid." The truth was in the twinkle of his eyes, however; Duo certainly had planned for Ron's reaction to cause such a shift, though for what reason he wanted to be on the Quidditch team was still up for debate.

Honestly, Duo just wanted to play a sport. Any sport. The lack of any to chose from left him with only one option -Quidditch.

"I thought that was a normal thing for him," Ginny muttered.

"There are levels," Duo pronounced knowingly. "Hee-chan's currently at a level of paranoia that it can be considered cute. When he starts giving the school nurse weird looks, we should start worrying."

Ginny didn't even want to know what Duo was implying by that statement. Needless to say, the American effortlessly blew the competition out of the water. His new position as Gryffindor Chaser was made official when Ron posted the tryout results the next morning.

Coincidentally, by the end of the week, the rest of Duo's peculiar group of friends had successfully procured positions on their respective House teams. Draco nearly pulled his hair out in frustration when he'd heard Wufei had managed to take over the freshly graduated Cho Chang's mantel as Ravenclaw Seeker.

"Just what Hogwarts needs," he muttered darkly over his breakfast, "another overly-competitive Seeker." Which brought the total up to three.

"Strong word of advice," Trowa said mildly, "don't cheat."

Anyone privileged to be within hearing range of the quietly spoken suggestion immediately fell quiet before, as one, staring at Trowa. Slytherins were infamous for thumbing their noses at the rules of the game. The school provided them bats (perfect for wholloping people with), attacking balls (again, perfect for wholloping at people), and permission to physically incapacitate the opposing team. Within limits, of course, but who really cared about limits? Slytherins had a lot of pent up resentment-against-the-world they needed to work off, and what better way than the Quidditch pitch?

Also, it was sort of fun proving the exception of the famous ethical rule that "cheaters never prosper." It shattered the illusions of others; that life was fair and just, and the hero always wins. Real life wasn't that simple, and it was time for their fellow Hogwarts students to realize this.

"Why?" Blaise Zabini said flatly, clearly not liking the idea of changing what, so far, proved to be a good thing. It didn't necessary help in winning matches, but it certainly helped in working off a little steam.

"Because Wufei won't like it," Trowa responded blandly, "and he'll make sure we fully realize this." He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice hinting at his inner mirth as he murmured, "Duo's probably going to cheat, but only to get a rise out of Wufei."

"Which may inspire Wufei to look away if we attempt to incapacitate Duo through any means necessary," Heero finished, seemingly unconcerned about the implications of such a suggestion.

"Did you just offer your boyfriend up for slaughter?" Blaise exploded incredulously, unable to keep his Slytherin face on.

Heero smirked. "He'll appreciate the challenge."

"Good," Draco said with a sharp nod. "So cheating is still in, only in moderation." He turned his eyes to Pansy, a speculative gleam in his gaze as he said, "We need something to distract Weasley. It's time to retire 'Weasley Is Our King'. It's beginning to lose it's affect, and it's becoming rather redundant."

"No more taunting songs like that, either," Blaise said with a sour expression on his face. "Touting Weasley as our King was beginning to make me physically ill."

Heero and Trowa exchanged knowing glances before Trowa raised his hand casually. "Cheerleaders."

Again, everyone but Heero stared blankly at him.

"Isn't that what the spectators are for?" Draco asked pointedly, frowning at Trowa in befuddlement.

Heero smirked. "We'll explain later."

The next morning, Pansy Parkinson went straight to Dumbledore's office, blonde hair pulled back in a perfect French twist and face made up in a more conservative manner. The Headmaster, outwardly pleased that one of the Slytherins would go to such lengths to support their Quidditch team, informed her that she had his full support, as long as she could convince her Head of House to allow it.

Professor Snape, however, was treated a little differently.

"I'll have your love-child if you let me have a Cheerleading Squad," Pansy said coyly, peering impishly at him from under her thick lashes as she leaned over his desk.

Severus, hardly even pausing from grading a stack of essays, said calmly, "Pansy, what have I told you about offering your firstborn child as incentive to get my permission?"

"It was worth a shot." She smirked before straightening, adopting a casually innocent posture. "Headmaster Dumbledore said it's okay with him as long as you agree to it."

"How nice of him," Severus murmured cynically, finally taking a break from his marking to eye the Slytherin girl suspiciously. "The Slytherin House cheers enough -why would you need leaders?"

"You know how the Slytherin Quidditch team always overlooks females as viable Quidditch material," Pansy said, her eyes narrowed. "We want to participate, as well. And Heero and Trowa suggested it, so you know it can't be anything too bad."

_On the contrary..._ "I don't care. Do what you want. Just stay out of my hair. However," he added sharply, giving the girl a stern look, "if Professor McGonagall barges in complaining, I reserve the right to use you as a test subject for my next potion project." It wasn't a threat to be taken very seriously, as the Head of Gryffindor House almost always came to Snape to make her displeasure with his House's conduct known.

Pansy smirked triumphantly.

-----------

On the last day of Duo's detention (detention, Severus had been led to believe, that the boy would be too busy to attend, which taxed the bitter Potions Master's tolerance quite enough, thank you), the relatively young professor was irritated to find that Maxwell had so-casually welcomed himself to Severus' private suite.

"How did you get in here?" Severus snapped irately upon seeing the boy relaxing in _his_ chair next to _his_ fire and propping his feet on _his_ ottoman. "My suite is warded against every kind of unlocking spell imaginable."

Maxwell's small, content smile lifted at the corners lazily. "Not good ol' fashion lockpicks. And what do you know -I had mine handy."

... What an incredibly stupid oversight. Severus actually felt ashamed and vaguely embarrassed that he hadn't thought of such a simple approach to locked doors. The small flood of humiliation only seemed to fuel his irritation, and he snarled, "You have two seconds to explain yourself before I decide to assign a month of real detention. And Peacecraft was considerate enough to inform me of a suitable punishment."

"That bastard," Maxwell muttered before sighing forlornly. "That's actually what I came here for. I haven't found the library yet; I need a little more time." Another sigh, and Maxwell cast a thoughtful look to the flickering fire in the hearth. "A little more manpower wouldn't hurt."

Severus, some of his upset draining from him, decided to put aside his decision to truly exact revenge against the troublesome terrorist. That wasn't to say that he didn't intend to ever punish the brat for his behavior, but it simply wasn't the time to serve cold vengeance to the American. "Who else knows what you're looking for?"

"Draco. The guys. Orie," Maxwell listed absently. "The Gryffindor Trio doesn't have a clue. They're working on their own little mystery."

Severus raised his eyebrow in keen interest before drawling, "And that would be...?" There was no doubt in his mind that Maxwell knew exactly what Potter and his little band of merry heros were up to.

"Unsporting," Maxwell quipped, grinning cheekily at Severus. "C'mon, Sexy -you should know better than to try and drill a guy like me for info. I would be disappointed in you if you didn't figure it out on your own."

It had been worth a shot. "I can give you detention without arousing any suspicion; your friends aren't as disruptive as you, and giving Draco detention for his errant distractions would seem out of place." If he had started off treating the boy poorly as some unspoken word of fidelity to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, the scenario would not have been so unfathomable. It was at Lucius' request that Severus treated his disinherited heir just as he normally would, and the spy hadn't questioned the Malfoy's unusually blatant exposure to any sort of manipulation on Severus' part. The request had felt brought on a nostalgia for their younger days, when a favor between friends and fellow Slytherins wasn't tainted with the everyday corruption of Death Eater protocol. _Anything to win the favor of the Dark Lord_, Severus thought bitterly, disgusted with his fellow Slytherin alumni.

"Good point," Maxwell said casually. "I have a plan."

Severus never liked the sound of such a simple statement. From the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, it generally meant trouble. From Headmaster Dumbledore, it meant that Severus was going to have to do something to stop the Dark Lord's plan without blowing his cover. From Maxwell, however, it meant mischief and guaranteed a headache for the unlucky sod who managed to get caught up in the boy's web.

Severus really _hated_ other people's plans. Especially when the plan involved him. "Are you going to elaborate?"

"Nah," Maxwell said, shrugging nonchalantly. "I think I'll keep it a secret. There's nothing like having the element of surprise." And then he smirked.

Oh, hell.

Maxwell stood up and shouldered his satchel, moving away from Severus' chair and meandering his way closer to the door. He fell still and turned suddenly. His face lost its mirthful quality, fading away under a moment of thought. Then, surprisingly sincere, he said kindly, "Thanks for doing this for me, you know? I didn't expect you to go along with it, but I had an inkling, and I went with it. I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear from somebody who gets on your nerves. Let me be honest -I _really_ like getting on your nerves," Maxwell added wryly. Then, with a congenial smile, he murmured, "Despite the fact you probably think about murdering me daily, you're my favorite teacher. In fact, I think you're the best professor this school has to offer."

For one full second, the world stood still.

"I think I'm going to be ill," Severus murmured vaguely, suddenly having problems comprehending the laws of nature. Gravity, for example, felt... thicker. Heavier. A little shaky, he sat in the chair Maxwell had just vacated, completely oblivious to the boy's worried start. Breathing was a problem, as well -he kept forgetting to do it.

A student of this school finally agreed to what Severus had been thinking since the beginning. Oh, sure, his Slytherin brats loved him, but they wouldn't actively sing his praises to save their lives. They merely used his blatant favoritism in their favor, and he'd been completely all right with that. Somebody had to stick up for them, no matter how sly and vicious they could be at times.

And it was _Maxwell_, of all people.

"Are you okay?" Maxwell blurted, shaking Severus out of his daze. "Oh, God, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. 'Carry on walking, Duo,' I said, 'just let it go. He's happier not knowing.' But I wanted to be up front and honest, and look! I broke you." He made a sour face. "Aw, hell. You're going to be pissed when you snap out of it and realized you just broke down in front of me."

Severus narrowed his eyes dangerously at the Gryffindor. With an uncomfortable chuckle, the American rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Maybe I should have kept that observation to myself..." he said ruefully, trailing off when he noticed the poison churning in those black, depth-less eyes. "Yeah. So. That's my queue to leave." Then, stiffly, he turned on his heels and began marching toward the door at a clipped pace.

"Two things, Maxwell," Severus said, barely able to keep the snarl out of his voice. The boy stopped dead in his tracks, viciously hissing a curse under his breath before he cautiously looked at the Potions Master from over his shoulder. Holding up one finger, he said monotonously, "One. This library you're searching for -does it have anything to do with what Potter and his gang of misfits are up to?" _I at least deserve this much, you little brat_.

Maxwell opened his mouth, obviously about to deliver his reply before he hesitated, his eyes reflecting startled wonder. Then, in a soft, bemused tone, he admitted, "Yes... and no." He turned back around to fully face Severus, a thoughtful smile on his face as he elaborated, "Y'know, it should have everything to do with Harry. He's the one with the destiny issues. Yet, even when my suspicions that what I'm doing will directly affect the chances of Harry succeeding by tilting the odds in his favor... I haven't been thinking about him at all." He tilted his head to the side, his smile dimming somewhat, his eyes hooded. "It's been all about me."

Leaving Severus with no room to formulate a response, Maxwell again turned to make his way for the door before Severus stopped him, raising another finger. "Two." Maxwell paused, not even bothering to turn around this time. Pitching his voice in a low snarl, Severus said coldly, "Tell anyone about what happened here, and I will eviscerate you with a smile on my face, Maxwell."

Maxwell hummed in amusement before whirling around to face Severus with his usual exuberance, his eyes twinkling as he grinned from ear to ear. With a saucy wink, he drawled, "Same to you, Sexy." Then, with a lazy wave, he added, "Ta," before he was finally able to flee Severus' private suite.

Severus couldn't prevent the rueful smirk that crossed his features when the door closed behind the boy.

Cheeky brat.

----------

The moment he stepped over the threshold of the Potions classroom, Chang Wufei had a sinking suspicion that he was about to fall under attack. It was perturbing, how easily one's soldier instincts returned the moment a possible threat had been perceived as such. He frowned to himself as he took a seat next to Mandy Brocklehurst, glancing around the classroom with suspicious narrowed eyes.

"What's wrong?" Mandy murmured as she set up her potions equipment, noting the tension in her companion's posture.

"Everything," Wufei grunted, still looking around for the source of his upset. No visible traps, no fools giving him any weird looks... He was pretty sure he hadn't angered anyone lately, and even Nott didn't seem to hold any ill will against him for that debacle in Muggle Defense... So what had his nerves on edge?

Mandy looked at him, nonplused. "I don't know how you function on a day to day basis with an attitude like that."

"My instincts have kept me alive and relatively uninjured for the last several years," Wufei said, lifting his chin arrogantly. "Right now, my instincts are screaming that someone is on the prowl."

"Are you sure Yuy's paranoia isn't contagious?" his companion inquired with an air of skepticism. Wufei had enough time to glare at her before Snape finally began conducting his lesson.

Most of the lesson passed by relatively uneventful. The first half of the class began with Professor Snape lecturing (in a rather grating, condescending manner) over the potion they were going to be brewing for Madam Pomphrey, who was running low on Skele-Grow. Wufei thought it sounded like a very useful potion to master, especially when it came to the things he and his companions tended to become involved in, so he made sure to be especially attentive to the directions Snape was going over. However, he couldn't completely smother the sinking suspicion that something was amiss.

So it was no surprise to him when the enemy struck when he was least prepared, poised to pour precisely one pint of armadillo bile into his bubbling cauldron. Something wet, slimy, and disgustingly warm splattered the back of his skull, sliding down the back of his neck and into the collar of his robes. Vaguely horrified, Wufei lifted his hand and peeled the slimy mess coagulating in his hair away and brought his disgusting evidence to eyesight.

Salamander intestines.

Eyes smoldering, he turned in his chair to glare at the possible culprits. Barton and Winner sat right behind him, both oblivious to what had just happened; the angle at which they were located to him was all wrong, anyway. On the other side of Barton, Yuy was frowning at Maxwell, who was softly humming what sounded like _I'm A Little Teapot_ while gleefully chopping a shrivelfig to pieces. Black, eyes wide and mouth slack with disbelief, was staring directly at Wufei. When the Chinese youth narrowed his eyes at him, Black unwittingly glanced at Maxwell with a morbidly curious expression on his face.

Wufei followed Black's gaze, his eyes narrowing furiously when he saw Maxwell's self-satisfied smirk. The lack of salamander intestines around his workspace gave the culprit away. _Bingo_.

"What," Wufei snarled lowly, "do you think you're doing, Maxwell?"

Maxwell blinked, glancing at Wufei innocently before peering into his cauldron. After a short pause, he announced, "Making what appears to be really gross gumbo."

"Why did you throw salamander intestines in my hair?" he growled loudly. By this point, anyone within hearing range paused and stared at the two. Brocklehurst even made it a point to scoot her chair away, and Yuy turned his frown from Maxwell to Wufei.

Maxwell shrugged nonchalantly. "I thought it was funny."

_Time to die_.

Too bad Snape snagged the back of his collar before Wufei managed to wrap his fingers around Maxwell's throat. "Explain," the man said shortly, bodily shoving Wufei back into his seat as he snapped, "Now!"

"Wuffers is so tense," Maxwell said innocently. "I thought he could use a hug."

"So you threw _intestines_ in my hair?" Wufei fairly raged, glaring furiously at his unrepentant friend.

"Those intestines were thrown out of _love_," Maxwell insisted earnestly.

"Start bottling your potions," Severus broke in tersely, addressing the entire class. "Label your products and place them on my desk. You'll pick up where you left off on Friday." Then, glancing meaningfully at Wufei and Maxwell, he said coldly, "The two of you can remain after class to discuss your detention."

Detention? Chang Wufei?

Detention!

_I'm going to kill him_. Wufei mechanically bottled his potion and scrubbed his instruments clean. _I'm really going to kill him_. After packing away his belongings, he stiffly walked to Snape's desk and placed the labeled bottle amongst the others. _Not even Yuy will be able to identify his mutilated corpse_. He silently waited for the rest of the students to evacuate, some of which casting him remorseful and/or frightened glances as they left. Black even spared a moment to murmur darkly, "Tough luck, having Snape interfere like that. I was ready to see divine retribution."

The moment the door shut behind the last student, Snape immediately dropped his sinister glower before raising an eyebrow at Maxwell, the air around the American saturated with satisfaction and triumph. "That was your brilliant plan?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Maxwell retorted, grinning lopsidedly.

Wufei clutched his hands into fist, staring stonily at the Gryffindor. "Plan?" he echoed flatly, the dark tendrils of suspicion choking him.

Snape glanced at Wufei, frowning. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what," Wufei demanded through gritted teeth.

"That I masterminded his earning a detention to serve my own purposes, and that you're in on it?" Maxwell suggested cheerfully. "Nope, he's clueless. How long have we got?"

"A month," Snape drawled, actually smirking when he eyed the seething Chinese Ravenclaw once more. "Now get out. I suggest running to safety before Chang snaps to."

Too late. "Die, Maxwell!" Wufei yelled, lunging for the American.

Maxwell shot out of reach, already running for the door while he cackled insanely. "Gotta catch me first, Wu-Changles!"

The chase persisted from the bowels of the dungeon to just outside of the Great Hall, Duo laughing the entire way. He'd just managed to burst into the hall where the rest of Hogwarts was dining, only to be tackled by Wufei from behind in the entryway. It took the combined forces of Heero Yuy and Zechs Marquise to pry the enraged Chinese Ravenclaw's fingers away from Duo's tender neck, and the American was still laughing weakly when they finally managed to pull Wufei off of him.

The entire Hall stared at the group of four huddled in the doorway, the same thought crossing everyone's mind as the bore witness to Duo's almost maniacal laughing and Wufei's snarled curses in languages most of them didn't even recognize.

_Barking mad loons._

_**END CHAPTER THIRTEEN**_

* * *

**Anybody else notice that Snape kept getting my attention, or is that just me?**

**(So sorry for not taking up on that proofreading offer. I got impatient. :_grins sheepishly_:)**


	14. Draco: His Loss and Personal Triumph

**Say it with me now:**

**FINALLY.**

**My only excuse is that work has been a bit time consuming and draining lately; we had several employees quit, so we've been a tad bit short-staffed for the last several months because, no matter who we put in those empty seats, none of them last very long. :_sighs_: It's a perpetual headache, but I'm only sorry that I let it distract me from writing. I plan to have the next chapter out BEFORE the New Year, so no worries. :_grins and holds up three fingers_: Promise. Brownie Scout's honor.**

**So thanks to all who have prodded me steadily since the passing of my November deadline, which I obviously didn't make. I tried to reply to all of them, but I'm afraid I was not successful, and I apologize.**

**I blame Sparky for my update because she did hers and made me feel bad. :_grins_: So everyone -dog pile on Sparky!**

**Now go on. Enough of me. ONWARD!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Fourteen**_

* * *

****

"You can't be mad at me forever, 'Fei."

No response. Not even so much as a twitch that would indicate the sullen Chinese youth had even heard him. Duo suppressed the urge to sigh, steadily walking only two steps behind and to the right of his reserved friend. He had known Wufei wouldn't be happy with him when he tossed those innards in the Ravenclaw's general direction, but the decision had been spur of the moment; most of the class had consisted of Duo plotting ways to goad Wufei into losing his temper to the point that he would actually strike back, and entrails seemed like the best bet at the time.

Duo calmly added potions ingredients to his list of Shit Not To Throw At Chang Wufei, of which included the likes of volatile explosives, dangerous chemicals, and a variety of food that mainly consisted of desserts. The last group was added due to the fact that the American had found that wasted ice cream actually made him a little sad when all was said and done, no matter how amusing it had been when Wufei's baritone voice had hit a tremulous tenor after the impact.

Wufei's horrified expression after Duo had offered to lick that particular treat off of his skin had almost been worth it, though. Almost.

"C'mon, Wufei. You know I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was important." Wufei's anger probably had nothing to do with the intestines, anyway. Yeah, sure, it was a little nasty, but Duo had a feeling it was the month of detention that had riled the Chinese boy above everything else. Despite Duo's frequent affiliation with said pass time, Chang Wufei actually made the effort to avoid such a mark on his record. His friend abhorred detention like Ron Weasley despised homework.

To be honest, Duo wouldn't have even targeted Wufei if he thought one of the others would take the bait. Quatre would have stared at him with those doleful teal eyes, silently wondering why the American would do such a thing to him. (Not to mention that Trowa might have hurt him for trying.) Trowa probably would have calmly returned the favor before going back to his potion, and Heero would more than likely give him one of his reprimanding glares that promised Duo he wouldn't be seeing the inside of his boyfriend's bedroom for some time to come. Wufei was the only logical choice for his plan.

_Of course_, Duo mused absently, _I could have just told the guys what I was planning_. But where was the fun in that? Well, for one, Wufei would actually _talk_ to him instead of giving him the cold shoulder. Duo thought his priorities might have needed a little work. Friends were more important than a few laughs, even if having fun was almost equal in worth.

"Okay, I give up." Duo stopped walking; raising his hands in defeat. When Wufei noticed the American was no longer dogging his footsteps, he stopped and craned his neck slightly, glaring coldly at Duo from over his shoulder. "I'm a thoughtless, selfish moron with little to no regard about my friends' feelings. On the scale of being a decent human being, I score abominably low. If my mom lived long enough to get to know me, she probably would have considered drowning me. I suck, and I'm sorry."

Wufei's eyes widened marginally; then something in his gaze snapped, and he whirled around and stalked toward Duo, visibly angrier than before. His friend only stopped moving when he was toe to toe with Duo, and for one, lingering moment, the American thought Wufei was going to hit him. Instead, the Chinese boy hissed heatedly, "Don't ever say that to me again!"

Taken aback by Wufei's vehemence, Duo leaned back slightly, confused. "... Wufei?"

"You," the Ravenclaw snarled lowly, jabbing Duo's chest with his finger, "are the most irritating human being I've ever met. In the first few weeks of our meeting, you noted every single one of my character traits and proceeded to pick and prod at the ones you found lacking to your heart's content, in a manner you're most familiar with. You're better at it than my wife ever was, and Meiran had more ammunition on me than you could ever hope for!" His rant ended sharply, his voice raised perhaps a tad bit louder than Wufei had intended. Something in his face changed at the mention of his wife; his expression softened, and he said quietly, as if without much thought, "She would have liked you."

It wasn't the first time Wufei had mentioned his wife, though he did it sparingly. He also never went into detail about her, so Duo didn't know what kind of person she was or how Wufei and his wife had gotten along. Sometimes he was under the impression that their relationship was a rocky one, as he imagined most arranged marriages would be. Other times, however, when Wufei would mention her -always in passing -he would remain quiet for a time, lost in his own thoughts.

"I would have liked to meet her," Duo said softly.

Wufei tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowed. Then he snorted and looked away, replying evenly, "You would have. She was the original pilot for Natak- Altron."

Duo started in surprise. He hadn't known that particular little detail, and he felt vaguely unsettled by it. How differently would events have turned out if the fifth pilot had been anybody but Wufei? More importantly, where would Wufei have been during the war? The answer that immediately came to mind turned his stomach. Wufei would have been safe and sound on L5, living his life until the point... until the point the colony self destructed.

Duo didn't like that. He didn't like it at all.

"My point is this," Wufei said suddenly, turning his blazing ebony eyes back to Duo. "Even if you know how to push my buttons and persist to do so with enough enthusiasm that it would be admirable if it didn't irritate me, you are not thoughtless, nor selfish. You care more about your friends than you do about yourself, and if your mother had thought you would have been a terrible human being, she wouldn't have given you the chance to live. As for being a decent human being, I only know a handful of those, and you happen to be on the list." He narrowed his eyes intently. "I never want to hear you say otherwise. Do you understand me?"

Duo felt his breath hitch, sincerely touched by Wufei's defense of him from... well, himself. He almost didn't know how to react to such an uncharacteristic show from the Chinese boy, so he decided to do what he did best.

"Oh, 'Fei," he gushed, throwing his arms around Wufei with a fake sob. His friend's body grew taunt at the contact, but he didn't immediately pull away from Duo's embrace. "You _do_ love me!"

"Cut it out," Wufei grumbled, vaguely uncomfortable. "We're late for detention."

Duo let go of him and stepped back, grinning sheepishly. "Ah... about that. We won't be serving detention tonight. Or any night, actually. I wasn't kidding about my nefarious planning, you know."

"That's typical," Wufei muttered wearily, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "And you mentioned Snape is involved. So, Maxwell, what are we doing for the duration of our supposed detention?" The stern, reprimanding look on the Ravenclaw's face spoke volumes as to what Wufei was thinking, which Duo interpreted as _This better not involve some insipid prank, or I really will throttle you_.

Out of habit, Duo glanced around the empty corridor for any sign of a stray student out of his dorm so close to curfew. He also listened intently, searching for any slight scuffling of footsteps and movement. When he was confident that no one was near enough to eavesdrop, he said quietly, "We're looking for her library."

Wufei narrowed his eyes, immediately noting Duo's candid response. He frowned severely, obviously bothered by his friend's proposal. "Based only on a vague riddle and the -his even more vague advice?"

Duo knew what Wufei was implying. They had little to go on and no idea where to even begin. Hogwarts was a massive structure in and of itself, with more nooks and crannies than any one of them could shake a stick at. The number of the secrets the castle (and even the grounds) held were innumerable to date. The others had taken a different approach to finding Ravenclaw's Library by way of researching Hogwarts' history as thoroughly as possible, going far beyond what _Hogwarts, A History_ could offer.

Yet, Duo felt the itching need to do more than just sit down with a dry book. He was an action man, through and through; so, while the others had taken upon themselves to explore other methods, Duo actively searched and even went to Orie on occasion for more information. It was through the Oracle that he knew it was useless to search the dungeons, no matter how vast that specific area of the castle was.

"Lady Ravenclaw," Orie had murmured thoughtfully, sitting atop the massive stone carving of the wizen face of Slytherin, "is a wise woman, whose knowledge surpasses any man in any number of fields of study. Suitors from miles around came to court her, yet she spurned them all with due scorn." He had smiled fondly then, his ruby eyes introverted. "They wished for a beauty to fawn and simper and remain a dutiful, subservient mate. Such behavior was above the Lady of Ravenclaw, as she has reminded all on numerous occasions."

"Sounds a lot like the women of today," Duo had noted in amusement, enjoying the rather vivid picture the Oracle was painting of Ravenclaw.

"Lady Ravenclaw is like no woman I have had the pleasure of meeting," Orie murmured, sounding equally amused. "Her arrogance is far too staggering to compare to any other." He had glanced at Duo then, a pleased smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Though it is heartening to hear that the fairer sex of the present emulate her. Not even Lord Slytherin, a traditionalist to the very core, could fault her sheer tenacity."

"So, if you could pick a place -any place -within the castle, where do _you _think she would hide her library?"

"That is a very difficult question," Orie said quietly, pensive, "and the query quite possibly has a very simple answer. One of which I do not have." He had flickered his gaze to Duo again, adding mildly, "I can, however, say this: do not bother searching the dungeons. Lady Ravenclaw would consider entrusting her library in such a climate blasphemy."

"That helps, actually," Duo murmured thankfully. Then he raised an eyebrow and said, slightly incredulously, "Don't tell me such a wise, silver-tongued hellcat was too dainty to step foot in the dark, dank dungeons."

Orie threw his head back and laughed, loudly and genuinely amused. When the laughter tapered off to controllable chuckles, he said with merrily dancing eyes, "No, perish the thought. Lady Ravenclaw simply thought the addition of dungeons to what was to serve as a school was tawdry and lacked a sense of class, no matter that Hogwarts is, first and foremost, a castle." Then, grinning slightly, he added mischievously, "Lady Hufflepuff was adamant about the decision, however. She claimed she would most certainly require an area to banish the more unruly students."

And hadn't that admission knocked Duo for a loop. No matter the reputation of the House, he had a strong suspicion that Lady Helga Hufflepuff was anything _but_ a pushover.

Duo broke away from his memories and shook his head thoughtfully, running his fingers through his bangs. "I know where not to look. According to Orie, the dungeons are out of the running, and I've searched the ground floor and most of the second. We just need to start where I left off last."

Wufei's frowned deepened, and Duo winced at his admission. He steeled himself for what was to come, and Wufei didn't disappoint him. "You've been looking by yourself? Maxwell, you..." Duo expected Wufei to lecture him about the great and wonderful uses of friends, and how he had plenty that were willing to jump in as soon as asked. The Chinese youth trailed off, however, a look of realization dawning across his face.

"You've made it personal." It wasn't a question, nor was it spoken with any sign of disbelief. It was the greatest taboo to the pilots; no matter how deeply they were involved, no matter how close to home the events they participated in, the golden rule was to never take it personally. Allowing emotions to cloud the mission left room for error and rash behavior, and that was something they simply could not afford in their line of work.

"Yeah," Duo murmured, evenly meeting Wufei's eyes. "I have."

For a long moment, nothing else was said, though Duo wouldn't have been surprised if his admission was met with his friend's derision. Instead, however, Wufei merely shook his head, obviously displeased. "That's your prerogative." Then, face solemn, he said seriously, "Just don't let it affect your better judgement."

"I won't," Duo promised, determined to keep his word. This couldn't be about him. Never about him. This was about the mission, the ultimate goal; this was about helping bring about the downfall of one of the most notorious Dark Lord the wizarding world had come to know. There was no room for personal vendettas in something so vitally important. Even so, helping topple Mr. Big, Bad, and Unhygienic off of his self-made pedestal sure as hell went a long way in making him one happy camper.

Wufei nodded sharply. "Good." He turned on his heels, heading for the nearest staircase at a determined pace. "Come along, Maxwell. I want to start on the third floor before the night is over."

Grinning, Duo jogged to catch up, slowing his pace to match Wufei's as soon as he was beside his friend. Tone teasing, he playfully said, "Y'know, during your touching little tirade about how much you love me, I can't help but notice you didn't mention my being a moron."

Wufei snorted. "I actually agree with that part."

"Ah!" Duo cried, clutching his fist over his heart dramatically as he swooned. "Oh, it stings. I don't know how I shall ever recover. Hold me, Waffles, I think I've lost the will to go on!"

Wufei did nothing of the sort; instead, he twitched violently at the newest addition to his list of hated nicknames before glancing at Duo from the corner of his eye. "I accept your apology." Then, with a rueful smirk, he added, "You still suck, though."

Duo felt a well of relief rise up when he received his confirmation -all was forgiven, and don't make the same mistake again.

"I swallow, too," Duo said with a perverted leer, nudging Wufei playfully. "Ask Hee-chan. He'll tell you." The absolute disgust on his friend's face cinched it for him.

"Gods, Maxwell, don't be vulgar! And stop laughing, damn you!"

----------

November 4th marked the first Quidditch game of the season, which happened to be a Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match. This, of course, created quite a bit of tension between the two Seekers, as neither one of them were what one would call gracious losers. To this effect, Draco seemed to drive his team harder than ever before, going as far as spending any and every spare second (when he wasn't studying, attending class, fulfilling Head Boy duties, and researching the lineage of the Founders) on the field chasing after the Snitch and executing infamous Seeker maneuvers to his heart's content. This, unfortunately, left him no time to cultivate his budding relationship with Harry.

Not that this by any chance meant that Harry was slacking off, nor did it seem to matter that Draco was too busy for him. In fact, the Boy Who Lived was just as driven as the Slytherin Prince. Both were set and determined to win their first match of the season, and to hell with any hard feelings on either side, boyfriend or no. Ron had been relieved upon noticing Harry's fanatic zeal during practice, confident that Harry wouldn't show any restraint towards the opposition despite the fact his own boyfriend was playing for the other team.

Duo and Heero, however, took to treating the upcoming match with some lighthearted ribbing (Duo) and smug glances (Heero).

"You're going down, Yuy!" Duo cried, voice echoing across the Great Hall as he stood from his seat at the Gryffindor table and pointed triumphantly at where his boyfriend sat. "Prepare for defeat!"

Heero's derisive snort was audible. Apparently, the new Slytherin Beater wasn't worried at all.

"Oh, yeah," Duo said, grinning from ear to ear as he settled back into his seat, preening. He glanced at Harry mischievously before he murmured enthusiastically, "Heero's going to have that team try to cream me."

Harry stared at Duo incredulously. "Why do you sound _happy_ about that possibility?" Duo did sound very excited despite his own conviction that his boyfriend would seek to take him out before the match was over. Harry was practically a nervous wreck, his stomach churning violently at the very thought of even taking one nibble of the scrumptious breakfast that was spread out before him.

"The operative word here is 'try'," Duo said eagerly, rubbing his hands together gleefully as his eyes gleamed with visible anticipation for the upcoming match. "I do so love a good challenge."

It seemed as if no time had passed between breakfast and the nearing game. Students, teachers, and a handful of proud parents were filling the stands; some were even wandering the pitch, cutting from one side to the other without all of the hassle of walking around. Duo, primed and prepped for the first big game of the season in his spiffy new Gryffindor Quidditch uniform, stood in the very center of the pitch, the eager grin stretching across his face speaking volumes about his excitement as he turned the full circle.

God, he loved sports. The thrill, the challenge, the unbridled determination to win -these were all things for which he lived so passionately. The fact that the famous wizarding sport combined both competition and flying only made it sound too good to be true, as it included two of the activities he excelled at.

A flash of a familiar ruby red caught his attention; pausing, he narrowed in on Orie, who was sitting ever-so-calmly next to Neville Longbottom. The man, smiling serenely, seemed to be holding an easy conversation with the awkward Gryffindor seventh year. By the look of Neville's face, the Gryffindor had taken quite a shine to Orie in a purely platonic way, going as far as offering his treats to the congenial man. In return, Orie seemed both fascinated and amused as his Chocolate Frog vainly attempted to escape his grasp.

Duo shook his head, smiling softly. _Blending in while making an impression. Oracle Man sure knows how this incognito thing works._ He wasn't upset that Orie had escaped the confines of the Chamber of Secrets; he'd expected it, rather. No one deserved to be exiled in that dark place for a prolonged period of time, no matter what interesting things the Chamber held.

"It's time to join your team, Maxwell," Madam Hooch said briskly, marching to the center of the pitch with her broom in hand. "The game's about to begin."

Duo turned and gave the golden-eyed woman a cheerful thumbs up. "Gotcha." He glanced toward Orie one last time, finding that the man's ruby eyes had found him. Neville, noticing that his new companion's attention had strayed, also found Duo looking back at them. Duo waved enthusiastically at the two of them before running off to join his awaiting teammates huddled just inside the entrance of the locker room.

Clearly brimming over with pre-game adrenaline, Duo smiled wildly at his teammates, some of whom matched his contagious grin, like the Gryffindor Beaters and his companion Chasers. Harry and Ron, on the other hand, both looked incredibly pale and somewhat nauseated. "You guys ready for the victory party?"

"Hell, yeah," Jimmy Peakes crowed triumphantly, slapping Ritchie Coote a high-five. Ginny and Demelza Robins exchanged amused glances.

"We haven't won this game yet," Ron said darkly, his pallor blending into an interesting (though worrisome) grey hue.

"Don't be such a downer, Captain Ron," Ginny said mildly, sending her brother a reproachful look. "Optimism is a good thing."

"And with one of the best Seekers this school has ever known, how could we lose?" Demelza added, grinning when Harry snapped out of his self-induced daze long enough to blush.

"Don't let Draco hear you say that," Duo said teasingly, nudging the younger girl slyly. "He'll only stop being indignant on his own behalf long enough to give you the evil eye for moving in on his territory, whether that was your intention or not." And, knowing the Slytherin Prince as well as he did, Duo had no doubt that would be the case. _Jealousy, thy name is Draco._

"Time to put the game faces on," Ritchie commented once Madam Hooch gave the sign. As one, the team swept to the side, looking back at Ron (puce by this point) with expectant eyes. "Lead on, oh captain, my captain."

Swallowing back his urge to sick up all over the front of his Quidditch robes, Ron Weasley steeled his resolve and lead his team to the center of the pitch just as Draco Black guided his teammates from the opposite end of the field. The crowd in the stands cheered them on wildly as the two rival teams stood face to face, both Captains a step in front of their respective teams. The only obstacle separating the two was Madam Hooch, who was giving the both of them stern looks.

"I ought to make the Captains hug," she said sharply, smirking lightly when both of the seventh years nearly recoiled in horror. "I'm sure we can settle your differences with a stern warning. Getting the two of you to be civil toward one another on the pitch would be like trying to pull a dragon's teeth, so I'm not even going to make the effort. I expect a clean game, gentlemen -don't disappoint me."

After being drilled with those intense eyes, Duo would hate to see what Hooch would do if she were disappointed.

"Mount your brooms, please."

They did so. Duo, standing directly across from Heero, gave his lover one last wink before the game officially began.

"What are those Slytherin girls doing on the field?" Jimmy whispered to Ritchie, his eyes having strayed to the seven pretty girls dressed in emerald green cloaks that were secured just under their necks, the hems nearly touching the ground. The girls were lined up in front of the Slytherin stands, all giving off the attitude that they had every right to be on the pitch.

"Eyes front, Peakes," Ron muttered lowly moments before Hooch blew sharply into her silver whistle. Almost as one, fifteen players shot up into the sky, waiting for the Quaffle to be thrown.

Hooch launched the ball into the air, and Duo was there to snap it up, easily rolling his broom out of the path of the Heero's partner Beater, Theodore Nott, who attempted to hinder his progress.

"And the Quaffle is in the possession of Duo Maxwell of Gryffindor," Seamus crowed, his voice echoing above the roar of the wildly cheering crowd. Duo wasn't paying attention; couldn't pay attention. He was in the game, apart of it, _living_ it as he tore down the field with a single-minded determination. He'd just noticed the bludger sailing directly at him when Jimmy was there with a battle cry, swinging his bat with all of his might and redirecting the projectile towards one of the Slytherin Chasers that had been aiming to get in Duo's way. The Chaser easily dodged the sluggish bludger, and Duo only had a moment to register Jimmy's pained cry before he was once again bearing down on the goals.

"Are you okay?" Harry called out, circling around Jimmy as Duo rolled out of the way of the second bludger, this time hit by Theodore Nott.

Jimmy grimaced, rolling his right shoulder painfully. "That Yuy may be scrawny-looking, but he packs one hell of a wallop!"

Harry had been afraid of that. He turned back to the game when the stands erupted into wild cheers; Duo, face to face with Trowa, had apparently passed to Ginny, who was positioned near the goal furthest from him, at the last moment. The girl had immediately sent the Quaffle sailing through the hoop, scoring the first goal of the game. Duo, letting out a loud whoop of triumph, flew to his teammate and slapped her a high-five before immediately launching back into the game.

The Quaffle was in the Slytherins' hands. Duo made what promised to be a highly successful steal, if not for the well-aimed bludger barreling toward him a la Heero. He swivelled and shot off just in time for the bludger to clip the bristles of his broom. He lost control for only a second before quickly and instinctively regaining his momentum, and he was off after the Quaffle again.

That's when, out of the corner of his eye, he vaguely registered the movement of seven forgotten female powerhouses of Slytherin. He slowed only for a cursory glance, if only to settle his screaming soldier instincts. After all, a secretive few of the Slytherin House were loyal to Voldemort despite their Prince's mutiny. The pack of woman were the beauties of Slytherin, of whom included the likes of Iva Moon, a handful of sixth and fifth years whose names, if he recalled correctly, were Silvia Donovan, Antoinette Marion, Viola Paschal, and Yvonne Flint; a single fourth year named Zelda Reynolds; and, leading them in every movement, Pansy Parkinson.

They were disrobing.

Jimmy and Ritchie, as young as they were, didn't stand a chance. Harry was outlandishly gaping, completely losing sight on the game. Even Duo had stopped in midair, utterly oblivious that the opposition was still blazing down the pitch with the majority of the Gryffindor team distracted.

"What the _fuck_ are you idiots doing!" the outraged shriek resounded loudly, immediately snapping all four of them out of their lustful-slash-incredulous dazes. It was more of whom was shouting at them than the actual act itself, and the inclusion of a rather unfeminine vulgarity startled them. Ginny Weasley was glaring at them heatedly, and then pointed out the equally infatuated Keeper just in time for the entire team to bare witness to an effortless score by the Slytherin team. "Wrong brain, perverts!" she snarled above the baffled and disbelieving roar of the crowd below.

The Slytherin House, at this point, were the only students cheering, stomping their feet loudly against the stands. They had plenty of reason to; not only did their team just score, but they had seven scantily clad cheerleaders, proudly standing in formation with self-satisfied smirks and beaming grins, to lead them on.

That's right. Cheerleaders. Green and silver pom-poms, ridiculously short green skirts with sleeveless green vests with silver lining that cut at mid-drift, proudly displaying their snake mascot around their ribs and elegant silver stitching that spelled out SLYTHERIN -the whole shebang.

Duo honestly thought Ginny couldn't blame them too much for falling for the ploy. Cheerleaders were certainly an unexpected sight to behold, as most professional Quidditch teams had little more than mascots to contend with. Even Harry and Duo had taken the bait, and it had been confirmed that the both of them were currently chasing for the other team.

"_NOT IN MY SCHOOL!_" Professor McGonagall thundered close enough to the voice amplifying spell cast around the announcer's booth. Apparently, even Seamus Finnigan had been shocked into hormonal-fueled silence. The game came to an immediate halt as the stern figurehead for Gryffindor House called for a delegation, which was held out in the center of the pitch and included not only the Headmaster, but Madam Hooch and Professors Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick. Soon, however, all of the professors were represented, beginning a heated debate about the legitimacy of the cheerleaders.

After a moment (and seeing no end to the discussion soon, what with McGonagall's wildly flailing arms as she shouted at Snape, who had adopted a defensive, standoffish posture), both teams congregated along the sidelines, completely unsupervised.

A recipe for disaster, if Ron's glower at the cooly smirking Slytherin Seeker was anything to go by. Duo and Heero instantly took it upon themselves to govern the situation.

"Slick, guys," Duo said in mocking admiration. "Real slick."

Unfortunately, before Heero could make his rejoinder, Draco had the audacity to preen. "All credit goes to our two newest teammates."

As one, the entire Gryffindor team turned to glare accusingly at Heero and Trowa, both of whom appeared unrepentant. The only one not shooting poison daggers out of his eyes was Duo, who glanced at Heero long-sufferingly before quickly and silently conveying his thoughts: _You had to have known this wouldn't go over well_.

Heero shrugged minutely, as if to say, _I can't be held liable for the unanticipated irresponsible actions of both the faculty's oversight and Draco_'_s big mouth_._ The fault is on them_.

Smartass. "Hee-chan, is there something you want to tell me?" Duo posed, feigning innocent concern over the validity of his boyfriend's currently-gay standing.

Heero smirked slightly. "The girls have a uniform in your size."

Duo was silently mortified as Jimmy, Ritchie, and Ron gave Duo strange looks. Harry, chortling quietly (the bastard), murmured, "Jeez, Heero, what's with you and trying to get Duo in drag?"

Duo winced, crossing his arms indignantly. He grumbled sullenly, "That's what I want to know."

Trowa, clearly amused, said mildly, "We all have our little kinks."

_I bet yours is dominate!Quatre,_ Duo thought, half-spitefully, half in amusement at the concept. In the end, he chalked up that particular idea as just one other of the things he didn't want to know about his friends' love life. He had his suspicions, and that was enough.

Finally, Hooch called their attention; the committee had come to an agreement, and McGonagall looked absolutely murderous while Snape radiated smugness. Dumbledore, beaming mischievously between them, announced that there were no rules against any of the houses having mascots, which was what they were obviously labeling the Slytherin cheerleaders. When he welcomed the other three houses to have their hands at it, the Head of Gryffindor nearly went into conniptions.

"Now let's allow the match to continue, shall we?" Dumbledore ended on a bright note, smiling almost wryly as the Slytherin House roared their approval over the ultimate decision. It wasn't often said house approved of anything he usually had to say, and he decided to enjoy the rare praise while it lasted.

The match was once more underway, each team determined even more than before to gain the advantage. The score was dead even, and the atmosphere on the pitch and amongst the stand was almost electric in its' intensity. The cheerleaders' chants echoed slightly above the pitch of the roaring crowd, but none were as noticeable as the Slytherins, who often joined the seven girls in unified cheers. The game itself was absolutely invigorating for Duo as he wildly dipped and dived, blocking the Slytherin Chasers when he did not have the Quaffle, and darting effortlessly from their attempts to steal it away from him when he did. The two erratic bludgers were a bonus challenge, as he found them heading his way more often than not. He winced sympathetically when Jimmy, arm strained from defending Duo from Heero's bludgers, actually had to switch out with Ritchie. The other Beater had his fair share of sympathy, as well, the first time he lodged a bludger hit by Heero toward a redirected target. Anyone within hearing heard his pained yell, and those too far away for the sound to reach them could see it plainly on his pained face.

Trowa was clear favorite of the onlookers in the stand, as he proved to be very talented in the area of Keeping. He blocked attempts to score more often than he didn't, and the few times he missed was because of Duo. Ron, no slacker in the Keeper department, was only a score behind Trowa before the Snitch was finally sighted.

Draco was closer and had the advantage of spotting the golden glint hovering near the Slytherin hoops first, and though Harry was not far behind his rival Seeker, it was almost assured that Draco would get to it first. He was already reach out, ready and eager to grasp his triumph when Duo darted from below just in front of him, forcing him to abort his direction with such speed that he momentarily lost control of his broom, all to prevent an unfortunate collision.

"You bogtrotting _bastard_!" Draco bellowed murderously the very moment Harry's fingers closer around the snitch. His insult was directed not at his boyfriend, who had lifted his fist in the air in victory amongst the ecstatic roaring of the spectators, but at Duo, who was smiling at him rather sheepishly.

"Sorry, man," the American said, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. "For love of the game, you know?"

Once they were on the ground, the Gryffindors eagerly dog-piled one another, Harry the unfortunate center of six simultaneous tackles from every direction. The Slytherins, reserved in comparison, huddled a fair distance away from them.

"What happened?" Draco grounded out, not upset with his teammates, but the ultimate loss of the game. There was supposed to be a Beater on Duo at all times to prevent such an occurrence.

Heero answered evenly, "I was trying to prevent Ginny Weasley from successfully stealing the Quaffle."

"Someone," Henderson, a sixth year Chaser, looked at Nott pointedly, "decided to lob a bludger toward boy Weasley."

Nott shot Henderson an acidic glare. "I was trying to give Reynolds a clear shot!"

"We are not playing the blame game," Draco spat, drawing his quarreling teammates' attentions away from each other. "We'll just have to practice harder -if we play the next two matches right and Gryffindor flubs it during their game with Ravenclaw, we're still in the running for the Quidditch Cup." Despite their unrest, Draco sent them off to the showers before sparing the congratulatory Gryffindors a glance. He found haunted green eyes staring at him. Harry broke away from his excited teammates, stopping halfway between them and the lone Slytherin.

Draco couldn't stop the reluctant smile that spread across his face and mouthed, very clearly, _Next time, Potter_. The Gryffindor Seeker grinned, appearing slightly relieved before mouthing back, _Bring it on, Black_.

The season wasn't over yet.

----------

The moment the snitch had been caught and the Gryffindor team's win had been assured, Hermione was back in the library continuing her efforts to find any information about Oracles that she could glean -which wasn't very much at all, much to her disappointment. From what she did gather, there had not been a certified Oracle in quite some time, and the position was lauded sparingly. In the hierarchy of those with the sight, most of which included Seers, Prophets, fortune tellers and voodoo priests and priestesses, Oracle seemed to be the creme de la creme, firmly at the top of the totem poll.

Besides that, she knew nothing. Documented Oracles were long forgotten due to the loss of centuries' worth of history because of numerous goblin rebellions and, most recently, the sudden crop of aspiring Dark Lords and their followers. The purebloods were always complaining that muggleborns were to be blamed for their dying culture, always overlooking their own mistakes.

Aside from Oracles, Hermione was steeped in books about ancient magical rites and rituals, though she had very little to go on. She knew it involved specific bloodlines -the Founders' Lines, which only made sense as they were the foundation of Hogwarts itself, and this ritual mentioned in the prophecy was supposed to be the school's biggest defense. She knew, in fact, that the ritual was supposed to involve between four and five people, one of which she knew for a fact was supposed to be Harry. It was not clear whether or not Harry was the Heir of Gryffindor, but it seemed to be a widely accepted idea that her friend didn't put a lot of faith in.

She wove through the stacks, grabbing potentially useful books as she went. She was only vaguely aware that Draco Black had entered the library, making a beeline for the genealogy section with a single-minded determination. She didn't bother acknowledging him, nor he, her; just because he was dating one of her best friends didn't make them get along any easier, though they managed to remain civil when it came to Head duties. She would always see him as nothing more than an arrogant prat with very few redeeming qualities, and she imagined he would always see her as a bossy know-it-all mudblood, even if he hadn't used that specific vulgarity against her in quite some time.

The stack of books in her arms were almost unmanageable, towering from her waist to the bridge of her nose. She finally decided that her selected reading material would be a good start, and she turned to head toward an empty, secluded table where she would not be bothered during her research. Unfortunately, she hadn't noticed there was someone standing nearby, perusing the shelves for his own book. The both of them stumbled, her stack of books tumbling to the ground with multiple thuds that echoed around the library.

The younger boy recoiled away, scowling. "Watch it, mudblood!"

For one brief, painful moment, Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes upon hearing the one bigoted insult she despised the most. Then, her senses coming back to her, she bristled and began to sharply deduct points from the boy's house (_Slytherin_, she thought, rolling her eyes. _Typical._) when she was faced with the back of a stranger.

He was taller than her -a full head taller, with hair such a true, deep shade of crimson that it could only be called ruby. His shoulders were set both proudly and confidently, and though she could not see his face from her position, she could only assume his expression was not a pleasant one by the cowed demeanor of younger boy, who skulked off as quickly as possible, his book forgotten.

The man turned to her, any sign of a scowl completely washed clean until there was nothing left but a pleasant smile set perfectly on bow-shaped lips that were crafted into a rather handsome face. He was pale -as pale as Black, if only more noticeable because of the dark color of his hair and eyes. His eyes were like rubies, like his hair; his nose was slanted in a graceful arch.

He was devastatingly handsome, she realized with a blush as he kneeled to the ground and began the task of collecting the fallen books without question. Belatedly she realized she was supposed to be doing the same, and she quickly dropped to the floor to assist him, obstinately refusing to meet the thoughtful eyes she could feel piercing through the layers of her wiry hair.

"Do you intend to read all of these before the day is over?" he asked mildly, startling her. She clutched the few books she gathered to her chest, noticing that he already had the rest of them carefully stacked by his side.

She nibbled her bottom lip uncertainly for a moment before nodding cautiously. "I hope to, at any rate. I'll most likely end up checking the majority of them out of the library for the evening." She stood up then, her books pressed guardedly to her chest as the man copied her movement. She waited only for a moment before she realized he wasn't going to hand her the rest of the books. In fact, he seemed to be patiently waiting for her to move, so move she did, going for one of the more sequestered tables.

When he placed the stack of books at the edge of the table, he took the first and glanced over the title. "_The Hierarchy of the Second Sight_." Then, the book under that. "_Rites and Rituals of the Deep Magicks_. Ambitious choice of reading material."

Now he was just fishing. "I'm working on a school project."

He smiled serenely. "Of course you are. Unfortunately," he said, his voice pitched to a low murmur as he wielded a book with a knowing glance, "you won't be finding what you are looking for in these texts."

Her shoulders tensed as her eyes shot to his face in suspicion; there was nothing there but open honesty and a visible sense of harmlessness. Still weary, she said evenly, "With all due respect, sir, but what would you know about what I'm looking for?"

"More than you think, I imagine," he said sincerely before leaning closer to her. She resisted the urge to back away, stubbornly refusing to give up her ground no matter by how much he was invading her personal space. Almost in a whisper, he murmured huskily, "Please, do not worry. In three days hence, you will have the information you're looking for come your way with no effort on your part. It is best that you enjoy the companionship of your friends and house mates so soon after a victory."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she stared at the stranger questioningly. Who was he? What in the world did he know about what she was doing? Before she could pose these questions, however, an unexpected visitor interrupted her.

"What are you doing here?"

Hermione turned, eyeing Black suspiciously. He wasn't looking at her, but at the stranger... as if they knew each other. _What has he been blabbing to people_? She wondered, upset by the discovery that Black might have been telling complete strangers things that were to remain secret. He had a large book of old newspaper clippings tucked under one arm, and he seemed to be staring at the stranger with a rather blank face that she'd come to learn meant that he was being cautiously distrustful.

The corners of the stranger's mouth ticked up in a smile. "It has been a long time since I've seen Hogwarts. I wanted to see how much has changed since I was here."

Black's expression, if possible, became even more closed off as he flickered his gaze at Hermione. "So why are you bothering Granger?"

"Don't be rude," Hermione said stiffly. "He's not bothering me." Just giving her yet another puzzle to muse over.

"Only offering a little advice," the stranger said softly, seemingly not bothered by Black's inquiry. He smiled at Hermione again, radiating an aura that gently coaxed her into trusting him. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Granger. Please, take what I said to heart."

Hermione looked him over thoughtfully, hesitantly chewing on her bottom lip again before she made her decision. "I'll think about it if you tell me your name."

Black snorted, muttering something under his breath that sounded like he was wishing her luck in that particular department. The stranger, unruffled, smiled again and said, "They call me Orie." He nodded to her then, murmuring a quiet goodbye before repeating the same with Black. Then he was leaving the library, with one bemused Gryffindor and one suspicious Slytherin left in his wake.

"Friend of yours?" Hermione asked pointedly, glancing at Black.

He grimaced at her sourly, shaking his head while muttering, "Hardly. I'm surprised anybody trusts him, as secretive as he is." He gave her a searching look, asking in a droll, "So what advice did he give you?"

For a moment, she honestly thought about keeping it to herself. Deciding Black, knowing the stranger at least a little better than she did, would be ideal in gaining input on the validity of the man's words, she said quietly, "He told me to stop looking for three days." She didn't say for what, since they both knew her part in the field of research.

"Did he?" Black mused, glancing back to the doorway the man had disappeared through, unnoticed. "As much as I hate to admit it, he's probably right. That man knows a lot more about what's going on than any of us do. And no, Granger," he added snidely, giving her a dark glance, "I didn't go spilling your little Gryffindor secrets to him. He already knew about it when I met him."

He turned on his heel and stalked back to his own table, leaving Hermione to ponder the events by herself. She glanced down at the mountain of reading material on the desk uncertainly, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth in thought before she stacked the books in alphabetical order, leaving them for the house elves to sort.

After all, it wasn't too late to join the Gryffindor's celebration over their triumph in Quidditch.

----------

It was only an hour after he'd seen Granger leave the library, and Draco was still agonizing over his disastrous loss in Quidditch.

And it was all Duo bloody Maxwell's fault.

Draco Black was a sore loser. He knew it, his house knew it, his friends knew it; everyone in the whole bloody school knew it. He saw no point in denying the obvious. He hated being second to anyone, as it would mean that someone was _better_ than him, and the elitist snob that had attached itself to Draco's soul like devastating cancer raged at the stark proof that he wasn't as perfect as he would like to think.

He was amazed, yet, quite pleased with himself that he managed to civilly request a little alone time when Harry hesitantly approached him, worrying questions silently asked through soulful green eyes and aching, raw expressions that rampaged across his face. It was perhaps that aspect of Harry that inspired Draco to give him a warm smile before turning and retreating to Hogwarts unnoticed -that sincere puppy face that gave one the impression that this puppy was no stranger to being kicked.

Draco vaguely wondered if Harry was aware that he had Draco's inner snob so tightly wound around his little finger. Knowing Harry, it wasn't likely. In any case, he wasn't as upset over the loss as he would have normally been, and he managed to drive away any lingering irritation by continuing his search for the Heir of Gryffindor.

That, of course, opened a whole new channel for Draco's irritation to bloom. He traced the bloodline as far as he could, and he was summarily met with a dead end. Anthony Tryndell was the last Heir of Gryffindor. He'd died before siring any children; before getting married, even, though he'd only been a week away from achieving that milestone. Any other lineage that had the potential to supply an Heir to Gryffindor died out long before Tryndell kicked it.

What was that annoying phrase Duo had coined from that damnably long muggle game he frequently roped people into playing? Oh, yes. "Do not pass Go. Do not collect two-hundred dollars." Whatever dollars were; Draco assumed the colorful paper rectangles with the numbers were involved.

The former Malfoy heir grunted irritably, planting his elbows on the table and supporting his heavy head by his temples. He'd run out of leads; an Heir of Gryffindor just didn't exist, no matter what some stupid prophecy said to the contrary. Either the prophecy was flawed, or Draco was right to think that Duo's Oracle pal was just playing puppet master with the world as his stage and the people in it as his marionettes.

Sighing, he idly sifted through numerous yellowed newspapers and opened genealogy books, his eyes listlessly scanning anything that even mentioned the last Heir of Gryffindor. He absently skimmed the front page article announcing the passing of Anthony Tryndell, survived only by his fiancee, Gail Summers. The smiling, cherubic-faced woman with the pronounced dimples and the happy, shining eyes was pretty, in a homey sort of way. Kind of reminded him of...

Draco froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. Suddenly, he launched from his chair, frantically searching the disarrayed stack of papers until he finally found what he was searching for.

Gail Summers married Robert Prewitt only two months after the death of her fiancee. Seven months later, she gave birth to a daughter.

Draco fell back into his chair woodenly.

Could it possibly be that simple?...

_**END CHAPTER FOURTEEN**_

* * *

**Ever notice how cliffhangers only make you cackle when you're the one doing the hanging? Bwahah... :_cackles madly as she dodges rotten fruit and runs away_:**


	15. Over the First Hurdle

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, yeah. I know you're tired of hearing it, but work is to blame. _:grins sheepishly_: Double shifts, training newbies... and we're STILL woefully understaffed. :_le_ _sigh_: And to be perfectly honest, most of this was finished ages ago. I just haven't found the time to transfer the words from paper until now. (Read: I haven't had a good day off in three weeks. Overtime sucks.)**

**Thank you all very much for reviewing, and happy reading to you!**

**Onward!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Fifteen**_

* * *

The Gryffindor celebration was in full swing, and had been the moment Harry Potter's fingers wrapped around the ever elusive golden snitch. So enthusiastic were they that it had been arranged for their dinner to be served in their common room. Though one of Hogwarts four houses claimed good riddance of the entire lot, some more surly of said house were obviously miffed at their house team's loss being unconsciously rubbed into their collective faces.

At least, that was what Duo had jokingly surmised after Heero and Trowa boldly crashed the Gryffindor victory party. There presence had been questioned suspiciously by a number of visiting Gryffindor alumni, such as Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, along with a handful of older faces. It was Fred and George Weasleys' casual acceptance of the two Slytherins rather than Duo's stubborn defense of them that defused the possibility of some rather hot tempers flaring.

The lingering tension remaining after the Weasley Endorsement (TM) was completely alleviated when Heero made it obvious that he came bearing peace offerings to the two current Gryffindor Beaters; the gifts were topical healing potions for Jimmy and Ritchie's strained shoulders and upper and middle backs, areas of which they had been complaining were bothering them immensely.

The two Beaters, reasonably wary of the offer, hesitated for a moment before Ritchie accepted the simple peace offering.

"It's nice and all, thanks," Jimmy volunteered awkwardly, staring that the stoic Slytherin with wide eyes, "but couldn't you have taken it easy with those swings?"

The Japanese boy stared at them blankly, causing them to shift uncomfortably in place. Trowa, taking pity on them, evenly said, "He did."

"_That_ was taking it easy?" Ritchie blurted, staring at Heero as if he'd just announced kinship to giants.

"Yes," Trowa replied bluntly. "Draco asked him to tone it down after he broke Nott's arm during tryouts."

The admission left both Beaters stunned into silence that visibly led to unmatched envy. "I want to do that," Jimmy murmured sadly, only capable of dreaming of a time he could incur such a severe injury just by swinging his bat at a bludger.

"You guys still rock," Duo said cheerfully, throwing his arm over Heero's shoulders and leaning against the other for support. In his other hand was only one of many bottles of butterbeer the Weasley twins had been thoughtful enough to smuggle in for the party. "You both managed to keep any target of Hee-chan's from getting hit, no matter to how much effort he was putting into it. Not only do you deserve kudos for talent, you both get brownie points for sheer tenacity. My man's no softy when it comes to physical strength."

"You're being too kind," Ritchie muttered dryly, though obviously pleased with the praise.

"They're never going to call _me_ Bone Crusher Peakes, that's for bloody sure," Jimmy added, slightly bitter.

"Bone Crusher Yuy," George mused, having caught on to the conversation in passing. As one, the Weasley twins hesitated in cutting a swath of chaos across the room, both exchanging wordless (and perhaps keenly telepathic) glances.

Not a word was spoken between them until Fred nodded his head sagely, eyes twinkling as he confirmed, "Bone Crusher Yuy it is."

"Don't forget to mention that I patented it!" Jimmy called to their backs as they continued their single-minded purpose that lead them to a few choice victims.

"They're not really going to call me that, are they?" Heero muttered flatly, eyes trailing after the twin redheaded menaces.

Duo smiled, patting his lover's shoulder comfortingly before removing all doubt by saying, "It's pretty much a copyrighted guarantee at this point."

"Hn," Heero grunted somewhat rebelliously, as if to say that it was a nickname he would eventually squash.

"Relax, Hee-chan," Duo whispered good-naturedly. "Nicknames are fun. Make us human. Have a butterbeer." Upon Heero's stern, sharp glance at the offer, the American rolled his eyes in exasperation. "One butterbeer isn't going to slow your reflexes, Hee-chan. I promise."

Nonetheless, the Japanese Slytherin declined the offer.

"You're dating _what_?" someone exploded incredulously, more out of reflex surprise than any actual ire, if Duo read the tone correctly. Almost the entire room feel silent, eyes turning to an older, handsome man staring at Harry Potter with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Out of habit, Duo searched for a name to go with the face and did not come away from his memory wanting -Oliver Wood, former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Keeper, and Hogwarts Heartthrob six years running. He was gaping at Harry as if his former teammate had casually announced that he was having Satan's love child.

Harry was visibly mortified under the scrutiny of not only Oliver, but everyone in the Gryffindor common room.

"Who, Oliver," Harry corrected, resigned. "His name is Draco."

Still flummoxed, Oliver murmured absently, "I think I had it right the first time..." Then, rather skeptically, he asked, "Well, I mean... Are you _sure_ you're dating him?"

Harry stared at Oliver blankly. "Pretty sure, Oliver. It's the only way I can reasonably explain the snogging." Ron, face sour, quietly gagged behind the neck of his bottled butterbeer. Hermione, having returned to the common room only an hour ago, merely appeared vaguely exasperated as she nursed her iced pumpkin juice.

"How in the world did you two refrain from killing each other long enough to consider dating?" Lee Jordan asked, still mind-boggled over Harry's announcement.

"That's simple," Hermione said calmly, sipping at her pumpkin juice before motioning the glass in Duo's general direction. "We blame him."

Duo grinned, puffing his chest out proudly as he glided across the short distance between him and them, effortlessly bringing Heero, still held captive in his boyfriend's one-armed embrace, along with him. At this point, most of everyone else began the party again.

"Blame is such a strong word, Mione," he said innocently, eyes dancing teasingly. "Accurate, though, I'll give you that." Then, preening smugly, he said, "You're welcome."

"Duo invited his friends to stay in Gryffindor Tower last Christmas," Harry explained, grinning at the American's posturing. "The list included Draco, so I bit my tongue and endured it."

"Don't let him fool you," Duo said, winking at Wood and Jordan conspiratorially. "We had a great Christmas. And the big thing you gotta remember about dragon boy is that his bark is much worse than his bite." Snickering, he added impishly, "After prolonged exposure to his bark, it begins to sound an awful lot like high-pitched, nettled yipping."

"Yipping?" Oliver repeated blankly.

With a whimsical chuckle, Duo said helpfully, "When he starts going off on one of his snooty little tirades, just picture a Maltese hopping about your ankles in a state of agitation. After an image like that burning into your brain, it doesn't seem to matter if he's insulting your mother."

Ron burst into loud guffaws, shoulders trembling in his amusement as he nearly lost his grip on his butterbeer. Even Hermione and Harry shared amused grins while Jordan and Wood beamed in approval.

"And Draco wonders why you always laugh at him," Heero commented evenly.

"Draco as a Maltese, Hee-chan," Duo replied insistently. "What isn't funny about that?"

"And yet, still more appealing than a hamster that pines for his wheel, hamster boy," came an overly smug rejoinder from behind. As one, Duo and Heero parted and turned, sighting Trowa in the company of the devil himself. Despite the fact that the Slytherin Prince had just caught them in the act of poking fun at him -again -Draco Black appeared curiously pleased with himself.

Trowa, rather belatedly, announced, "Draco decided to drop by."

"We see that, Tro, thanks," Duo said, not unkindly. He tilted his head curiously at his friend, noting that whatever lingering irritation the blond may have had over Duo's successful interference during the Quidditch game had either faded or had been overshadowed by something more important. Duo was betting on the latter -Draco's grudges were notorious and ridiculously long-standing.

"What's up, Draco? By the smugness you're radiating, I'd say the canary was doomed from the start," Duo noted, lifting his eyebrow inquiringly. That was exactly what Draco resembled -a cat that had devised a method to get to the canary and was already working his way to the bowl of cream while he was at it.

The blond glanced at Duo in dismissal before moving to Harry's side, smirking triumphantly as he lifted a single finger. Duo, intrigued, surmised that in this particular case, Harry might have been the metaphorical canary. "First base, Harry."

For a moment, the green-eyed boy seemed just as befuddled by the blond's cryptic statement as everyone else. Then realization dawned and his eyes widened. Voice low and tone hopeful, he said breathlessly, "You mean...?"

"One down, three to go," Draco confirmed with a victorious smirk. "I own first base, Potter."

Duo glanced quickly at Hermione and Ron. The redhead was frowning, visibly upset that he was confused about what was being implied. Hermione's eyes were bright with possible ideas, her posture screaming that she was bursting with questions. Jordan and Wood were just as clueless as Ron while Heero's face was carefully blank of any emotion. Trowa didn't really make a show of looking too interested in the events unfolding before him.

Duo had some idea was to what was being implied, but he didn't know as much as he would have liked. Draco had mentioned over a month ago that Harry had asked a favor of him, and that the favor involved the Oracle's prophecy. He'd yet to find the time to pull Draco aside to discuss the issue in detail; a lingering fear that the Slytherin's appointed task involved the Four Heirs of Hogwarts still haunted the American, though Draco had not said anything that imply his task had anything to do with that. Duo wasn't eager to breach the topic until he had his personal feelings about admitting to all and sundry his Heir status settled. Still, he knew in his gut that Draco would not betray his trust until Duo was well and ready to do so himself.

Feigning ignorance, he felt the corners of his mouth tilt upward in mirth when the familiarity of Draco's odd terminology registered. "I'm not going to ask what this is all about, but... Harry," he addressed his friend sweetly, "how, exactly, did you convince dragon boy to help you?"

Draco, seemingly realizing his faux pas belatedly, blushed uncomfortable and shifted his weight from one foot to the other in subdued agitation. Harry, mortified for the second time within the hour, avoided eye contact as he pointedly remained silent.

In Duo's book, that was as good as a written confession. With a sly, impish chuckle, he said playfully, "I'm so telling Cissa about this. Somehow I think she'll love you even more when she hears you used the promise of naughty touches to get her son to bend to your will."

"What?" Ron, Wood, and Jordan cried, symphonious and in varying degrees of disbelief and (in Ron's case) abject horror. Hermione, apparently having reached the same conclusion herself, pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation as she mutter something that may or may have not been about Duo's big mouth. Heero snorted, merely shaking his head at his boyfriend's obvious teasing.

Trowa, thoughtfully amused, said simply, "So that's what I nearly walked in on."

"Trowa!" Harry wailed, aghast. "For God's sake, Draco, why did you mention bases?"

Draco crossed his arms defensively across his chest, still embarrassed and a touch defensive. He retorted stubbornly, "Why didn't you tell me that sodding baseball analogy was easily recognizable for the purpose you used it for?" Draco, it appeared, was taking the 'you can't blame me for the little slip because I am a hardcore pureblood and am above stupid muggle things like this' approach. "It's a ridiculous sport anyway -who encourages players to advance to the next base with sexual favors? Nutters!"

Duo almost died laughing.

"This you always laughing at me thing is starting to become rather tiresome, hamster boy," Draco snapped peevishly, glaring at the howling American. In an effort to stay on his feet, Duo had leaned heavily against his smirking lover, who was deriving as much reserved enjoyment from the conversation as Duo was. Even Trowa was laughing quietly in response to Draco's misunderstanding about the great sport of baseball.

The blond snarled quietly under his breath when the American's mirth showed no sign of fading. Deciding he didn't need or desire to be openly mocked in front of witnesses, Draco gently but firmly wrapped his fingers around Harry's wrist and pulled him toward the stairwell leading up to the boys' dorm. Harry, just as eager to escape, followed gladly as he emphatically motioned for Hermione and Ron to come along.

"What, is it a private party?" Duo cried dramatically, staying in place as he watched the four of them escape. "Guys! You know it isn't a real bash without me!"

"That's because the treats you bring have a nasty tendency to explode," Draco shot back sneeringly over his shoulder. The quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment was the cue Duo had been looking for; he played with the end of his braid to convey that Draco's message had been received seconds before the blond added half-scornfully, half-mockingly, "So sit back and let the adults have their talk, Duo."

Duo grinned wickedly, quipping with the very aura of innocence, "The big kids have better games, anyway." With a wave of his hand, he said in dismissal, "Go have your boring adult talk."

"Don't forget to give Duo his bottle before nappy time, Heero," Draco addressed the Japanese boy primly before, with a smug glance at Duo, he shot up the stairs after the three Gryffindors, who had left long after Draco had chosen to linger in order to exchange precious insults and retorts with Duo.

When Draco had gone, Duo whirled on his heels and slung his arms low around Heero's waist. Bodies pressed intimately together, he purred throatily, "And while the 'rents are away, the children will play."

Heero smirked. "I know where Draco keeps his favorite toys."

Duo fluttered his eyelashes coyly, his amethyst eyes dancing merrily. "Oh, Hee-chan, you know all the right things to say to me." He moved his arms up, threading his fingers together behind Heero's neck. He fell limply to the side, forcing the Slytherin to steady his boyfriend. With almost as little movement as possible, Heero swept Duo's feet from the ground, arm hooked under the American's knees as his other arm supported the boy's back.

"You're just so studly," Duo said airily, beaming up at his boyfriend. "Carry me over the threshold?"

"Lazy," Heero chided without any bite to his tone. Nevertheless, he effortlessly turned and made a beeline for the portrait hole, Duo settled comfortably in his strong arms.

"Lee," Oliver, forgotten and bereft, looked to his companion imploringly, "when did life at Hogwarts become so abnormal?"

The handsome black man ruffled his dreadlocks wearily, appearing confused and sincere when he parried, "Were things ever normal here, Oliver? Truly?"

"Once," Oliver assured him vaguely, "a time ago. It seems like a faded dream now..."

Trowa smiled sympathetically before bowing his head at the two men respectfully. "If you'll excuse me, I must make sure the kids don't get carried away. I doubt the current Head Boy and Girl would appreciate further sleep deprivation because Duo was this hyper."

He left the same way his friends had before him; he wasn't surprised to find the two of them waiting for him in the fairly deserted corridor outside the Gryffindor Tower. Heero had put Duo back on his feet, and both were huddled near the wall expectantly.

"I'll go tell the others," Trowa murmured quietly.

"We'll lurk about a bit longer," Duo volunteered, oddly reserved. "Draco said that he found one and had three more to go. I think he might have landed the task I'm most interested in."

Trowa didn't have to ask which one that would be -the Heirs of Hogwarts, of which Duo was one. "How much do you think he would willingly tell you?"

"Only whatever involves me," Duo said seriously. "Just that much would satisfy me, I think. And I did promise that anything pertaining to me was all that I wanted to know."

"I see," Trowa said, nodding in understanding before he left them near the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

When Trowa was gone, Heero decided to point out something that Duo had initially overlooked when he'd been planning for the future. "We've placed Draco in a very delicate position where there's only a thin line to tread. While I still believe it is an appropriate means to an end... what if the forced silence on our part backfires and Draco takes the brunt of it, Duo?"

Duo didn't answer. In truth, he didn't have one. That simple concept unsettled him more than anything else life could throw at him. He could only hope that the situation would never call for it.

_God, don't let me ruin everything_.

----------

If he played his cards right, Draco thought he was going to walk away from this revelation satisfied in more ways than one. Not only was he flying high from personal satisfaction over successfully discovering the existence of Godric Gryffindor's direct bloodline, but he was just one step closer - or, in this case, one base closer -to what Harry had carefully phrased as a home run. There was also the malicious vindication he was about to enact for the sake of his infamous rancorous attitude. And it couldn't have happened to a better target, in his honest opinion.

As soon as the door was secured behind him -including both the lock and a quick silencing charm -Granger came at him with the question they all wanted answered. "What did you find out?"

Draco, radiating triumph, glided toward the bed Harry was sitting on and welcomed himself to the seat next to him. "The last documented Heir of Gryffindor died in a freak splinching accident. It was at his bachelor party that he became heavily inebriated before attempting to Apparate home. He botch it in the worst possible way -his body made it home, but his head didn't."

Harry cringed sympathetically, his face ashen. He liked Apparating least of them all, since he was completely graceless in all but flying. The Floo enforced his clumsiness and left him filthy with ash in the end; Portkeys were regarded suspiciously and nervously, to the point he felt ill when the prospect of using one came about. (This one, of course, was not accredited to the physical discomfort when using one, but to the effect that said mode of transportation was the most undependable and led him to almost imminent death more often than not.) Then again, he hadn't much luck with flying cars, trains, and not-so-horseless carriages, either. The thought of what horrible thing could happen to him should he take up Apparating absolutely terrified him.

Draco had surmised this for himself, and murmured half-nonchalantly, half-matter-of-factly, "Oh, that reminds me. Harry, you haven't gotten around to signing up for the classes that start after Yule. Don't be late about it, or you'll have to pay a fee."

"Thanks for reminding me," Harry muttered without ire.

"Poor sod," Weasley said sincerely, completely oblivious to the quick exchange between the his best friend and that git he was dating.

Granger, however, took a more logical approach, which was actually Draco's private thought on the matter... not that he was going to admit it, since that would involve actively agreeing with her. "That's what happens when you attempt such a delicate spell while intoxicated," she said smartly, frowning at Draco in dissatisfaction. "How is a dead end going to help us?"

"That's cold, Mione," Weasley mumbled.

Granger rolled her eyes in exasperation. "For pity's sake, Ron, I didn't say he deserved it. Stupid actions have unfortunate consequences."

"Guys," Harry interjected, staving what almost became yet another tedious argument care of Granger and the Weasel. "Spats about a dead guy aside, I'm certain Draco wouldn't preen this much over a dead end." He glanced questioningly at the blond Slytherin. "You did find a legitimate heir, right?"

Draco snorted ironically. Interesting choice of words... "Strictly speaking. Note that I bothered to mention why Tryndell was getting snockered." He cut a sly glance toward Granger. "Remind us, Granger -just why would a man be throwing a bachelor party?"

"He was getting married," she answered on reflex. She caught on to what Draco was implying rather quickly. "You mean...?"

"That Tryndell tried the milk before buying the cow?" Draco finished with a flash of pearly white teeth. "No shame in it, of course -he was three weeks away from the altar, after all. His grieving fiancee didn't grieve for long before she sank her hooks into another man one whole month later. Seven months after that, she gave birth to a daughter. Eight pounds, seven ounces -a healthy, fully matured infant." He pushed a stray lock of silvery blond hair from his face with a cool smile on his lips. "Tryndell was the father. I'd stake my inheritance on it."

"So who was she?" Harry asked. "The baby?"

Draco turned his eyes to Weasley then, not wanting to miss a single detail when he dropped the bomb. "Molly Prewitt. Forty-six years of age, born on March 25, has more children than she knows what to do with. Married a Weasley -ringing any bells?"

Just as Draco thought, the gobsmacked expression on the Weasel's face was absolutely priceless. At first, upon hearing his mother's maiden name, the redheaded oaf didn't seem to know what to do with himself. The more Draco revealed -the more that added up -the better the chances that he would actually see Weasley faint from sensory overload. It wasn't everyday that Draco got away with implying that the Weasel's mother was almost, but not quite, an illegitimate bastard.

"So," Granger said breathlessly, breaking the sudden silence that seemed to linger stubbornly after Draco's flooring revelation, "Ron is..."

"A descendant of Gryffindor," Draco reminded her primly. "Bill Weasley would be the true heir, but I believe the Weasel's blood would do in a pinch. After all, this is a blood ritual we're talking about here. As long as the specific conditions are met, it shouldn't really matter which Weasley does the blood-letting." Still, Draco would need to discuss the particulars of the matter with the Oracle first (something he was reluctant to do), but hew was positive he was right. The library at Malfoy Manor had several old tomes about blood rituals, so Draco knew a little more about the basics than any modern-day teenager had the right to know.

Granger was only disgruntled by the subtle reminder that Draco was better acquainted with the subject of her self-appointed task through his family ties; though Draco personally thought that his knowledge on the matter of blood rituals didn't amount to as much as he would have liked. Rituals in general were an arcane form of magic and caused more trouble if executed improperly. Ten to one against that events could take a turn for the worse if the slightest mistake was made -the tiniest detail missed. And it was almost guaranteed to failure if they didn't approach the ritual with as much caution as humanly possible, as blood rituals were hair-raisingly complicated. Enough so that Lucius had sealed the few detailed tomes the Malfoy Library possessed in a vault where even Draco was prohibited, leaving the few left for the Malfoy heir to study.

"I can't believe this," Weasley said hoarsely, completely out of his element. Draco knew exactly why the redhead was so unsettled; the youngest Weasley son had no claim to fame other than being Harry Potter's best friend. He had titles of his own to hold -prefect, Gryffindor Captain and Keeper; but those were all things his siblings had accomplished in previous years. Even Fred and George Weasley had found a way to stand out all on their own, just by actively seeking to be the anti-Weasley. (Poor grades, mischief making, never making Captain status or prefect -underachievers, but adored-slash-loathed all the same.) "This is so surreal..."

Of course, seeing as his entire family were descendants of one of the greatest wizards Great Britain had ever known, this still didn't make him stand out anymore in his family. Yet, just to be able to say, "I'm Ron Weasley -Gryffindor's blood descendant" probably pleased the redhead.

Drat. He was taking it way better than Draco had expected. Time for plan B.

The blond leaned closer to Harry and murmured saucily, "Do you think it's ironic that it's because of Weasley that I finally earned a snog?" Harry choked on his laughter, green eyes dancing with inner mirth.

"I heard that!" Weasley snapped, blanching. Apparently, he wasn't so gone in his brain-numbed state that he was completely oblivious to what was going on around him. Then again, 'brain-numb' seem to be a familiar state for the idiot.

Smirking, Draco leaned back languidly, planting his hand on the bedding behind him to support his weight as he used the other to, once again, flick a few strands of hair from his eyes. "Consider it a win for everyone involved, Weasley. T-three more Heirs, and we're set." He sincerely hoped no one had caught on to his near-admission; for a moment, he almost didn't catch himself before he just as well admitted that the true estimate was two, not three. "Granted, of course, that Granger finds the ritual we need to seal the deal anytime this century."

He said it rather cattily, but he knew it was next to impossible for Granger to succeed unless Duo and the others found Ravenclaw's Library. Granger was truly faultless for her fruitless searching; Hogwarts Library just didn't have the material she sorely needed.

Still, he was sodding happy to rub it in her face. Too bad his haughty prodding put such a weary frown on Harry's face. "She's trying, Draco. We all are. It's just not as easy as you make it sound."

"Actually," Granger said lightly, "I've decided to take a break for the next three days."

Weasley and Harry stared incredulously at the Head Girl, as if she'd just announced that she was secretly pining unrequitedly over Severus Snape. With a slight, satisfied smile, she added innocently, "After all, it was your mysterious friend that suggested it, Black."

"He's not my friend," Draco bit out sharply before he could contain himself. The Oracle _wasn't_ his friend; he wasn't even sure the man was trustworthy. There was something about the ruby-haired man that made Draco ill at ease, something about the way the Oracle carefully chose his words. Sly. Calculating. Manipulative. Mysterious.

Draco didn't like him in the least.

Granger beamed triumphantly. Draco, belatedly realizing her little trap too late, glared coldly at the nosy bint. "That's funny, seeing as you vouched for him earlier."

"I said his suggestion was worth merit," Draco said lowly, angry. "That man isn't to be trusted, and it would be foolish of you to approach him on any matter blindly."

Harry, baffled and slightly upset by his friend and boyfriend's obvious dispute, glanced between them helplessly. "Who are you two talking about?"

"No one," Draco insisted the same moment Granger replied primly, "Draco's friend."

"He's not my friend, Granger, so bloody well lay off," the Slytherin grounded out with acid dripping from his voice. He thought he was showing remarkable restraint, considering he wanted to jump to his feet and shout, "Mudblood, mudblood, filthy little mudblood!" in her face. Not that it matter to Draco that she was a stupid mudblood; people like Heero and Trowa showed him that blood truly didn't matter when it came to competence. He just said it because it hurt her feelings. Petty -but bloody satisfying, nonetheless.

Instead of going off on a spiel, he demanded, "What do you want me to say, Granger? Do you want me to tell you all about him?"

"I want to know who he is," Granger replied stubbornly. "I also want to know how he knew what I was looking for in the library. I want to know to whom you've been telling our business!"

So that was what this inquisition was all about. After the mysterious meeting with someone Draco had clearly implied he knew at least in passing, Granger assumed that her reservations about Draco were completely justified. Sneering, Draco replied flatly, "One, I don't know who he is, just that the name he gave you isn't his real one. Two, I don't know exactly how he knew you would be the one researching blood rituals and bloody stupid Oracles," he said the last word with a venomous snarl, knowing somehow that being exactly that was how the ruby-haired man knew things he had no business knowing, "and three, I haven't told him a damn thing. For your information, he knew long before I even met him."

He came to his feet gracefully, his hands clenched into fists at his side as he visibly bristled at the harpy's gall. "I could care less about what you think of me, and that goes double for the Weasel; but that you would go as far as to accuse me of betraying Harry like that, and to someone I don't even like..." He shook his head bitterly. "That's low, even for you, Granger."

Granger was not cowed by Draco cool rebuttal; in fact, she remained stubbornly shameless, going as far as lifting her chin defiantly at him. "I still think you know more than you're admitting, Black, and I intend to find out what's going on."

Draco scoffed derisively, inwardly seething. She was absolutely right, of course. He knew a great deal more than he was telling. A small part of him even acknowledged that Granger's concern was justifiable, if only because she was worried for her friends' safety. He would have most likely reacted similarly if the table had been turned. What made the situation even more unbearable was that he would gladly admit everything without question if not for one major detail.

Duo would never forgive him.

"I have better things to do than to continue some baseless argument with a paranoid harpy," Draco said snidely, moving to leave the room far behind him. He'd nearly pulled the door open with such a force that the momentum threatened to jerk the doorknob from his grip and slam into the wall, but he kept his grasp.

"Draco!" Harry called out, half questioningly. Draco hesitated in the doorway, turning to look passed Granger at his boyfriend. The Gryffindor was on his feet now, looking at the blond wonderingly.

Draco forced a smile, saying, "Rain check, Harry. It's almost curfew, and I have patrol." Then, sincerely teasing, he added, "Don't think I won't collect my dues. I worked long and hard for my prize."

He didn't linger long enough for Harry to formulate a response. He jogged down the stairs and out cut through the wave of Gryffindors, hardly noticing when the Weasley twins called out to him jeeringly. The corridor outside of the portrait hole was completely deserted, save for two familiar faces lurking nearby -Duo and Heero, easily conversing in their privacy. The two turned to him immediately, Duo beaming brightly as he opened his mouth to speak. The dark expression on the blond's face made the wisecrack Duo was most certainly about to deliver die before it could be voiced, and the smile wilted slightly.

Before Duo could ask what was wrong, Draco quietly announced, voice carefully empty of emotion, "I found the Gryffindor."

Duo looked at him for a long moment before he nodded, seemingly satisfied with knowing just that. "Only two left."

"Three," Draco corrected quietly. "The less you remind me otherwise, the less likely that I'll make the mistake of letting them know the true estimate."

Duo nodded in understanding, eyes still silently posing questions Draco wasn't up to answering. Instead, he murmured some vague excuse about patrolling the halls for strays and left them to their business.

He didn't get far before he heard muffled footsteps behind him; a quickly glance confirmed that Heero had decided to join Draco for his jaunt around school, which was fine with him. Heero wasn't nearly as invasive as Duo, though the Japanese Slytherin was just as skilled when it came to extracting information. Where Duo would constantly badger a man with question after question, each more pointedly worded to the extent that it was difficult avoiding the issue altogether, Heero was patient.

Heero didn't speak to the blond for over an hour into their walkthrough of the school, which allowed Draco to stew over his own thoughts and feelings to the point that he was bursting at the seams with personal indignation. Once the dam broke, the Slytherin Prince was like a fount of willing given information.

"It's that bloody Oracle's fault," Draco exploded suddenly, rather cross. The blond hardly noticed Heero's satisfied nod before he continued acrimoniously, "Who does he think he is, approaching that mouthy beaver like that? Even more, offering advice on something he had no business admitting any knowledge to in the first place! Now Granger knows I've been holding back on Harry. That stupid git has ruined everything!"

For a moment, Heero said nothing. A quick glance at the quiet Japanese boy's face made Draco feel wholly justified in his complaint. His companion appeared disgruntled that there was a hitch in the mission, and judging by his lack of ire towards Draco, he also understood that a majority of the blame lay in the Oracle.

It was that minor percentage of leftover blame that bothered Draco, and Heero seemed to pick up on it rather quickly. "How does she know you have anything to do with Orie?" Heero asked evenly. Draco flinched, wincing at the question. In a matter-of-fact tone, Heero answered his own question. "You approached him in front of her." Yuy's Seventh Golden Rule: Never claim knowledge of the supposedly unknown variant, if only for the sake of reasonable doubt. Heero had spent nearly the entire summer trying to drill aforementioned rules to live by into Draco's head, but to be fair, Duo and Wufei had been on similar missions regarding other aspects of life during the summer, so the former Malfoy heir had a lot on his plate at the time.

"Why?"

"I don't trust him," Draco said vehemently, glaring at the floor. They were alone in the Astronomy Tower, progress halted by their conversation. "Isn't that reason enough?"

Heero's lips suddenly curled into a very small, amused smirk. "You were concerned for Hermione. Very touching, Draco. Stupid, but touching."

"Shut up," Draco muttered sullenly, grimacing when, once again, Heero took a shot in the dark and still managed to hit the target. The truth was that as soon as he'd spotted the Oracle speaking to Granger, his immediate instinct was to make sure nothing untoward happened to the girl. He still didn't like Granger one iota, but she was useful, a sight better than the Weasel, and... she was Harry's friend. That last reason had been enough to override his initial decision to pretend ignorance before he had moved to drive the man away.

"She would have suspected me anyway," he grumbled peevishly. "She knows Harry and Weasley wouldn't have said anything. I'm Draco Black, Slytherin and most recent addition to the team. She probably even expects that sort of thing from me."

"True," Heero conceded, but only by so much. "Still, it would have helped if you had not said anything."

"Don't rub it in, Heero," Draco said, resigned.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Draco," the Japanese boy pointed out logically. "There's only shame in it if you make the same mistake twice."

"Says the man who never makes mistakes," Draco retorted, looking at Heero pointedly, As soon as the words had left his mouth, a cool, emotionless mask slammed in place over the Japanese boy's face. He wished he could take them back, as for a brief second before Heero shut down, there was a spark of regret that flashed in his Prussian blue eyes.

Heero, tone clipped, said flatly, "I've made my fair share."

Wisely, Draco said nothing in response. He felt as if this specific part of Heero's past was not up for discussion. Still, he couldn't stop wondering exactly what kind of mistake on Heero's part would call for such an extreme, standoffish reaction. Duo, in speaking of Heero's pension for flawless perfection, spent a better part of his time lording the truth behind the meaning of the word in reference to his boyfriend. Now it appeared as if Heero did not share Duo's opinion.

There was a story there, perhaps even more than one. Still, despite their closeness, Draco doubted Heero would indulge his curiosity if he asked. He reluctantly dropped the discussion, neatly filing away the mysterious reaction for a later date to ponder. Instead, he crossed his arms sullenly and turned the conversation back to the source of his discontent.

"Even so, one would think that a man who touts himself as an all knowing Oracle would not make such a foolish mistake. I'm beginning to doubt having the Sight is all it's cracked up to be if the one gifted with it lacks any common sense."

"You can always ask him about it," Heero pointed out.

"And expect a straight answer?" Draco scoffed. "Too easy -and not worth my time getting my hopes up. I imagine he'll have a good answer, all the same." Then, his tone tinged with bitterness, he added darkly, "He always does."

"Would it really hurt to hear his answer?"

Draco made a sour face that heralded an unsatisfactory reaction Heero knew too well. Voice pitched in a half growl of irritation, half-whine of petulance, the blond lamented, "I don't _want_ to talk to him if I don't _have_ to, Heero!"

Heero shook his head as a sign of his exasperation, but he didn't bother wasting his energy trying to convince the stubborn brat to do something he obviously didn't want to do. It would have been much easier for him to question the Oracle himself.

----------

It didn't take a genius to deduct that Duo had boldly walked in on a very private dispute between friends. For once, it wasn't a petty argument between Ron and Hermione, but an intense exchange of words between -surprise, surprise -Hermione and Harry. Ron, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content with letting his girlfriend handle this one, as he appeared a little too occupied with his own thoughts to contribute to the cause.

"Doesn't it bother you that he's-" Hermione was saying imploringly when Duo entered, seemingly unconcerned about the private party he was crashing. Hermione's mouth clamped shut with an audible clack of her teeth, and she glanced at the interloper apprehensively out of the corner of her eye.

Duo raised his eyebrows at them before he went to his wardrobe, unclasping his robes and tossing the heavy material onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. He rummaged through his closet without so much as a word, only coming out again when he had a fresh set of pajamas in the crook of one arm.

Finally, he glanced pointedly at Hermione. "If you wanted to see me in my skivvies, all you had to do is ask, Mione."

Blushing hotly, Hermione turned away in embarrassment, instead glancing back at Harry with a pleading look on her face. "Will you at least think about what I'm saying?"

Harry parried evenly, "Will you grant what I'm saying the same consideration?"

For a moment, it looked as if Hermione was going to argue with him again. Finally, she reluctantly nodded in agreement. "Fine. I will if you will."

"Fine," Harry parroted in a clipped tone.

After a second of hesitation, Duo said meaningfully, "The pants are off in five... four... three..." He waggled his eyebrows impishly at the girl. "Here comes the full Monty."

Hermione, laughing softly, said, "Okay, okay, I'm gone." To Ron, she gently coaxed, "Let's get you a butterbeer, Ron."

The redhead shook himself out of his own musing, murmuring under his breath, "Un-bloody-believable. The world's mad, I say." To Duo's private delight, Ron and Hermione left the room, closing the door behind them.

He really did change into his pajamas before settling in the center of his bed, his legs crossed as he laid his hair brush in his lap. He dutifully set to work unraveling his braid and, when he was finished, he began stroking his thick, wavy chestnut hair with it.

With a weary sigh, Harry flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, lost in his own tremulous thoughts.

"Draco's upset," Duo informed him quietly, thoughtfully searching the green-eyed boy's profile. "It's really difficult to poke fun at him when he's that upset. It's kind of like kicking an old dog for not wanting to play."

Harry snorted at the analogy before covering his face with his hands while making a strangled noise of discontentment. Words muffled, he muttered, "He and Hermione had a fight."

"They do that all of the time," Duo dismissed Harry's explanation offhandedly. "There has to be more to it than that."

"She accused him of hiding things from us," Harry clarified sullenly, dropping his hands limply on the bed beside him. "She also accused him of telling people things he shouldn't be spreading."

Damn.

"Let me ask you something, Harry," Duo murmured, still pulling his brush through his hair in long, lazy strokes. "Do you honestly think dragon boy would keep secrets from you without a good reason?"

"No," Harry replied honestly, eyes never straying from the ceiling. "But he is. And it better be for a damn good reason."

Damn again. _This just might be my fault_.

Scratch that. It was most definitely Duo's fault. Draco was keeping his secrets, sitting on what Duo himself knew and was striving to keep within his own circle. In the end, it was because of Duo's own insecurity and his desperate need to never associate himself with Voldemort that Draco was trapped between a wall and a beam cannon.

Duo wasn't stupid. He knew that he would eventually have to reveal his part in the ritual for the greater good fo the wizarding world. Draco took an oath that he would never tell a soul about the American's corrupt heritage, and in fulfilling that oath, he was running the risk of alienating Harry. Even so, Draco was doing what he could to keep his word, and Duo had nothing but respect for the blond Slytherin because of it.

Yet... he still wasn't willing to enlighten Harry. He just wasn't prepared to admit something that he couldn't bare to acknowledge to himself, much less other people. When the time came, he was dead certain he wouldn't be ready for it then, either.

"I'm positive his intentions are good," Duo assured Harry, driven by the guilt-ridden need to somehow patch up the gaping hole between Draco and the Gryffindor Trio. He even managed a wry grin as he added ruefully, "I can't honestly say that about a lot of things dragon boy does, but I know for a fact he'd never betray your trust, Harry. The little snot is way too smitten with you."

"I don't doubt that," Harry said, smiling reluctantly. "He wouldn't let me get away with half of what I say or do to him otherwise." Then, thoughtfully, he added, "I do trust him, even though him keeping secrets from me is irritating. It's Hermione that suspects him."

"She does it because she loves you, so I wouldn't hold it against her," Duo replied cheerfully. "Let those two settle their issues themselves. Draco will say something out of line, she'll slap him, he'll pout, and she'll feel vindicated. Easy as that."

"I hope you're right," Harry murmured, sounding as if he didn't quite believe that would be the case at all.

"I know I am," Duo boasted confidently, placing his brush on his bedside table before quickly braiding his hair.

_Everything will work out, Harry._

_I promise._

----------

If anyone asked for the whereabouts of any specific missing student(s) from any four of the houses on a spectacularly sunny Sunday afternoon, the inquirer would receive mixed answers. As branched out as they were, there were a myriad of locations that the five terrorists could plausibly be; to be exact, any of them could have decided to invade one of the houses' territories for any reason. Sometimes they gathered in the Gryffindor Tower, other times they slummed in the Slytherin dungeons; there had been a handful of occasions they invaded the Ravenclaw sanctuary or besiege the Huffelpuff abode. In any case, thanks to the lack of communication between the houses at any given time, the chances of their absence being noted were slim to none.

The last place anybody would look for them was the Chamber of Secrets. Duo spotted Orie perched on top of the carving of Salazar Slytherin's head forever engraved in stone, as if the ruby-haired man had been waiting for them. For all any of them knew, that was quite possibly the case.

"Hey, Orie," Duo greeted cheerfully, easily scaling the side of the megalith so he could join the Oracle in his roost. Though he was the first to start climbing, Trowa easily reached the top before any of them just in time to give them all a leg up to the apex.

"Draco's so miffed at you right now," Duo said casually, settling in a seat beside the redhead. "And frankly, I don't blame him. Hermione's accusing him of spreading secrets and hiding things because of your stunt."

"For that, I am regretful," Orie said sincerely, bowing his head in acceptance of the Slytherin Prince's ire. "I only wished to spare Ms. Granger from overworking herself before Ravenclaw's Library is found. It is unfair to expect results when none are to be found."

"I wouldn't tell Draco that," Duo said knowingly, feeling that the Oracle's moment of compassion for Hermione would only serve to irritated Draco further. The American was certain that the Slytherin didn't necessarily hate Orie; the Oracle was someone he made the blond feel uneasy, if only because the man obviously knew intimate details of any one of their pasts. Draco's mistrust, by all rights, was even acceptable human behavior considering the circumstances and the personalities involved.

The Oracle, despite his helpfulness, only revealed information he believed was important while keeping all of the intimate details to himself. Draco was naturally repulsed by the concept that someone could know more about himself than he did, and Orie had already proven he knew such things when he dismissed the legitimacy of the blond's disinheritance.

Orie glanced at Duo briefly, smiling slightly. "I shall keep that in mind."

Duo sighed, shrugging before he slumped forward heavily. "As for the library, I'm starting to think we aren't going to find it as soon as I had hoped. Ravenclaw picked a good hiding place."

"We've only managed to dismiss areas of the castle where the library might not be," Wufei added tersely, as dissatisfied with the lack of progress as Duo was downtrodden. "Even then we aren't absolutely certain that we didn't merely overlook it."

"Researching the library has been rather fruitless, as well," Quatre murmured, a bit put out over the lack of progress in regard to the approach the rest of them had taken. "I know you said the Founders were very careful to reveal nothing that could compare to the leak about the Chamber of Secrets, but I expected at least a small footnote in history."

"The closest we could find that could compare was that Ravenclaw was known for inheriting a vast library from her family," Trowa added. "Popular consensus agrees that a majority of her personal books went to Hogwarts Library."

"The ones she had little use for did migrate to Hogwarts Library," Orie corrected knowingly. "Lady Ravenclaw is wise and encourages her students to learn as much as possible. She is also unreasonably selfish and protective when it comes to her books, however, and would never part with that which she treasures above all else."

Duo tilted his head to the side, smiling crookedly as he considered Orie. "Sometimes it completely slips my mind that you are the perfect source for tapping information on the Founders, Orie." Raising his eyebrow slightly, he added drolly, "I suppose if I asked why you don't just divine the whereabouts of the library, you'd meet me with an answer that will make me feel silly for asking."

Orie smiled apologetically. "Given the circumstances, it was agreed that precautions against any sort of tactic on my part to find the Founders' secret rooms be taken. Places such as Ravenclaw's Library are completely blind to the Sight." Solemnly, he added, "Secrecy was important above all else. Allowing me to know the locations of their chambers was too dangerous, especially if the information could have been unwillingly taken from me."

"Yeah, I thought you would say something like that," Duo said heavily, sighing again.

"Is there anything you can tell us about Rowena Ravenclaw that would give us even the slightest inkling of where she would or would not hide her library?" Quatre asked curiously. "I mean, is there any part of the castle that Ravenclaw didn't particularly like?"

"In the castle, no," Orie said evenly. "However, Lady Ravenclaw had a fierce temper when the Quidditch pitch was the topic of discussion. It's inclusion on school grounds was one of many arguments that Lady Hufflepuff won over her."

"That's not the least bit useful, but it sounds like an interesting story," Duo said, grinning imploringly.

Orie smiled politely and indulged the American. "When Lady Hufflepuff demanded that a Quidditch field be constructed on Hogwarts ground and house teams to be established, Lady Ravenclaw was adamantly against it. Ravenclaw thought such frivolous activities would distract the students from their studies, and Hufflepuff parried by saying such was the point of sports. 'Life,' said Lady Hufflepuff, 'is not entirely dedicated to ink and quill and parchment and books. Society would surely collapse in ruin if all any one person accomplished was learning to recognize the alphabet.'" The Oracle emitted a soft chuckle as he shook his head nostalgically. "The Lady Ravenclaw was vexed for weeks after; and what bodes ill for the Lady Scholar bodes ill for all involved. Not even brave Gryffindor crossed her when she was in such a state."

"Women," Wufei muttered under his breath, as if he expected that would have been the case.

Duo laughed, more out of contemplation than actual humor. "Man, that's kind of surreal. I only ever hear about the fights between Slytherin and Gryffindor. You never hear about any of the other Founders arguing."

The Oracle whipped his head around sharply, his ruby eyes wide in shock and disbelief. Orie was openly dismayed, overwhelmingly upset over what Duo had just said. Smile quickly fading, Duo frowned questioningly at the bereft Oracle. "Did I say something wrong?"

With a passionate jut of his chin, the Oracle said vehemently, "The lords _never_ fought! They were like brothers, in honor if not by blood, else Ric would not have been named Isabella Slytherin's godfather, nor would she have been entrusted in his care when Lord Slytherin left!"

Ric? Not the usual Lord Gryffindor, the less used Gryffindor, nor even the unheard of 'Godric'? The nickname implied more familiarity than the Oracle had intended to convey, judging by how his raw dismay was immediately smothered by an expressionless mask after he realized his mistake. The ruby-haired man looked away, tensely silent as Duo and Heero exchanged quick looks. When Duo looked back to gauge the others, he found Wufei looked particularly interested in the faux pas. Trowa betrayed nothing, his body language just as unassuming as before, while Quatre's eyes focused on the ground; Duo could only assume that Quatre was already devising every possible scenario over the fond nickname in order to find out more about Orie's past.

"I apologize," Orie said, somewhat tersely. "I forget my place. While Lord Gryffindor and Slytherin had their disputes, they considered one another equals in everything. To imply differently is a tragic betrayal of time and history."

"Maybe when this is all over," Quatre suggested kindly, "you can write a biography about the Founders. You are in a position to set the record straight, after all, seeing as you knew all of them personally."

"We'd better go before we're missed," Heero said quietly. "It's very likely that Ron is scouring the castle for Quatre in hopes of challenging him to a game of chess."

"Or five," Trowa added, smiling slightly. Nine times out of ten on a Sunday, Ron actively searched for Quatre after exhausting Harry's patience with the strategy game. More times than not, the game would still end in a stalemate, and the times that was not the case were Quatre's handful of victories. Ron had been close to beating the blond several times, and he was determined to win against the Hufflepuff at least once.

"Yeah," Duo said, poised to climb to his feet. He paused, glancing over at Orie thoughtfully. The ruby-haired man was staring out across the cavern, obviously lost in thought. "Catch you later, Orie?"

"Yes," Orie said immediately, turning to smile softly at Duo. "Have a good evening, all of you."

Duo grinned in return, giving the man a thumbs up. "Will do, Orie. Take care, man." He pulled himself to his feet and followed his friends in climbing down the side of Slytherin's bloated head. (Or maybe not so bloated...) He paused at intervals, curiously noting that several chunks of stone appeared to be missing. He placed his hand over one gaping wound in the stone, tracing one finger along what appeared to be long teeth marks. _I wonder what was going on when this happened_, Duo pondered when he finally reached ground level. He jogged after the others, turning around long enough to wave Orie goodbye.

He heard the man chuckle as he lifted his hand for a return wave, if a little more reserved than Duo's full, exuberant movement of his arm.

"Ric," Quatre hummed thoughtfully once they'd left the main cavern. "That's interesting."

"Yep," Duo said cheerfully, jogging to walk in stride with the blond. "I wonder if Orie was as familiar with the other Founders, or if Gryffindor was just a special case."

"I doubt he was so close to his guardian; at least, he hasn't implied it," Wufei pointed out logically. "In fact, whenever he talks about Slytherin, he doesn't express any familial obligation to him whatsoever."

"Either way, one little nickname isn't enough to tell us much," Trowa surmised thoughtfully. "It does, however, indicate that he was particularly close to Godric Gryffindor."

"I wonder how close," Duo mused. "I mean, the nickname itself is very fond, especially for someone like Orie. It took me a week to convince him that my name isn't Lord Maxwell."

"That's disturbing," Heero said flatly. "Construction of Hogwarts began when the Oracle was eleven. That the Founders had the means to fund it suggests that they were at least seventeen -old enough to have full control over their estates. Gryffindor had to have been at least six to ten years older than him."

Duo winked playfully at Heero. "Yeah, but Orie's old enough now. The relationship could have been a new thing."

"Will you stop trying to turn everyone's life into a sordid affair?" Wufei said sharply, giving Duo a stern glare. "There isn't any proof they were lovers. Close friends is a strong possibility, but I doubt it actually goes beyond that."

"You're probably right," Duo said with a rueful grin. They'd made it to the main entrance, where they had left their brooms for an easier time out. The first time they ventured into the chamber, it had taken them a while to decide just how to leave the way they came. Heero was convinced there was an easier way to get back to the surface, but until they figured it out, they always brought the brooms along for aid. "But it's kind of fun assuming otherwise, isn't it?"

Wufei didn't bother replying, instead straddling his broom and kicking off, his destination nearly straight up the tunnel. In no time, all five of them were back in the girls bathroom, and Duo turned to order the entrance to close behind him.

"How'd it go, Myrtle?" he asked cheerfully, looking around for the ghost girl as soon as the entrance slid into place. The weepy ghost eagerly ventured out of her cubicle and glided to Duo's side.

"Well enough," Myrtle said, almost smug. "A couple of girls tried to come in, but I showed them what's what."

"Way to go, Myrtle," Duo cheered, grinning at the ghost and holding his hand up. "Come on, slap me a ghost five." She happily took the invitation, but instead of the reassuring slap of skin on skin, Myrtle's hand went straight through Duo's. The American paid it no mind, hardly losing his friendly disposition. "Thanks a ton, Myrtle -this means a lot to us."

Myrtle giggled simperingly, causing Wufei to cringe behind the ghost's back. Duo, however, could see Wufei's expression through the spirit entirely, and found it difficult to suppress his laughter. Oh, Wufei was finding Myrtle absolutely _unbearable_. Then again, Wufei usually found nice girls that did Duo favors generally fell into the "annoying woman" category.

"I hate to cut and run, but I have a lot of things to do today, and so little time left before curfew," Duo said sincerely. "I promise to come by for a visit first thing tomorrow morning, though. Is that okay with you?"

Myrtle appeared slightly downtrodden that Duo wasn't going to take the time to chat with her, as he'd done ever since he had enlisted her help. However, she brightened when Duo promised to come by the next morning, so she was reasonably satisfied when she said, "Well, if you must. But I better see you tomorrow, Duo Maxwell, or I'm going to be very cross with you!"

"Hey, I promised, didn't I?" Duo said defensively, grinning at her. "When Duo Maxwell makes a promise, he does his best to honor it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Myrtle simpered. If a ghost could blush, that probably would have been the case. "See you tomorrow?"

Duo winked knowingly. "It's a date. Have a good night, Myrtle."

After having the ghost subtly check the corridor for any strays, they left the bathroom and made a beeline for the nearest staircase. "I'm going to be doing a little walkthrough of the fourth floor north wing. If anybody asks," he added, smiling slightly, "tell them I'm testing the limits of curfew."

"You do realize the fourth floor north wing is where most of the professors reside, right?" Trowa pointed out, raising his visible eyebrow at Duo inquiringly.

"Yeah, which is why it's best for you guys if I'm the one to brave that territory," Duo replied casually. "They kind of expect that sort of behavior out of me now. Any teacher that could come across me lurking about probably wouldn't think twice about me being up to mischief. The same can't be said for any of you."

After making promises to be back before curfew, they parted ways from Duo. True to his word, Duo went straight for the fourth floor north wing, though he wasn't as diligently searching for Ravenclaw's Library as he had originally implied. In fact, he sincerely doubted he would have more luck here than he did the first three floors. He only volunteered to cover this particular area so he would have an excuse to be alone as he sorted his thoughts.

Things weren't coming along as quickly as he'd hoped, and the lack of progress was starting to get to him. He didn't begrudge Draco his own success, but he'd hoped to have the library found by now. Realistically, he realized he'd only been searching for a month, and Hogwarts was an expansive castle with a lot of curious nooks and crannies.

He didn't even want to think about what was going on between Hermione and Draco, but he knew in the end that it was just as much his problem as it was the Slytherin Prince's. Duo was of the opinion that Draco had earned a good groveling on the American's part, but he didn't know how to apologize without bungling it up. He certainly hadn't found a solution to help soothe Hermione's stubborn interest in the matter.

Feeling hopeless and more than a little upset by how things were progressing, Duo wandered the corridors in hopes of clearing his head. Despite his sour mood, he was always fascinated by the interactive paintings of the wizarding world. The American occasionally took the time to stop and chat with the more interesting occupants of the portraits, if only because they often had very entertaining stories to tell, whether about their lives until the point the painting was created or tales of students and faculty that had lived ages ago. Several portraits had much to say; others did not. In any case, they were all woefully neglected by most as a great firsthand source of history.

Sadly, Duo couldn't muster the energy for much casual conversation. Some of the portraits he passed greeted him by his first name, and while he managed polite smiles, cheerful greetings in return, and jaunty waves, he didn't stop long enough to chat. He just wasn't in the mood. Even though he didn't wish to dwell on matters of importance any longer, he couldn't help but be plagued with unanswered questions.

The lack of answers was really starting to make him cranky.

_My knowledge reflects between war and peace_. "The hint is Enoch," Duo mused aloud, grateful to be alone. "Not the man, but his story..." A story about the birth of wizards and giants, righteous angels and the condemned. While it was something he could almost relate to -especially the 'condemned' part -it still meant nothing to him.

"Damn it," Duo mumbled sullenly, pausing in the middle of an empty corridor. He vaguely recognized the hallway as the one Zechs' suite was in; Duo wouldn't have been surprised if several other members of the staff could be found living along the same corridor, though he rarely saw any other members of the faculty lingering in or around the area. In any case, it could explain why students were reluctant to venture far into that particular section of the castle.

A quiet, merry voice rang out, asking serenely, "Are you troubled, son of the earth?"

Duo, recognizing the particular form of address, snapped his gaze to the source of the voice. It was a peaceful portrait painted with cheery, soothingly warm colors. Numerous angels (_Celestials_, he corrected himself absently) were frolicking in the background, playing a lighthearted game of tag in the sky. One of the Celestials had pulled away from the others, settling on a rock formation in an almost casual sprawl. It was this curly-haired blond angel that was looking at Duo with some amount of keen interest.

Duo mustered a rueful grin as he replied, "Nah. Just realizing that I'm really not good with vague riddles."

"Ah, but the plight of Man and Celestial alike," the angel said knowingly. "Persistence, son of the earth. With a pure heart and a clear mind, all things are possible."

"Which probably explains everything," Duo quipped, offering a self-depreciating smile in return. "My mind was born in the gutter. Prolonged exposure tends to leave some grime you can never scrub away, you know?"

The Celestial smiled, showing his perfect row of white teeth. "I believe you do not give yourself enough credit, son of the earth."

"My second flaw," Duo agreed with a chuckle before moving away with a casual wave. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"It was no trouble to me," the angel replied peacefully before turning to watch his playful companions. Even though the conversation was only a short one, Duo did feel a little more calmed by the confident assurance of a being more commonly associated to the God Father Maxwell and Sister Helen were so devout to, despite his own misgivings about said Creator.

When his gaze absently strayed over the scenery of the next painting, his casual pace screeched to a halt, his eyes widening as the scene registered to his brain. Men armed with spears were scrambling to overcome a rampaging giant, who threw his large head back and bellowed his rage to the blood-colored sky, the land barren of life. Giants...

In between the peaceful frolicking of unworried angels and the fierce battle of man and giant was a blank wall. A blank wall that Duo know for a fact was the entrance to Zechs Marquise's suite.

"My knowledge reflects between war and peace," Duo whispered breathlessly. Celestials, men (children of the earth), and giants...

The American flew to the wall, both fists pounding into the brickwork as he desperately called for Zechs to allow him entrance, praying to any deity he could think of that he didn't have to actively look for the former White Fang leader.

Duo was in luck. Zechs, however, considered himself quite the opposite.

"Birdman!" he heard the American shout above the din of his pounding fists. "Birdman! Let me in, let me in, let me in, let me-"

Okay, that was too annoying to ignore.

The moment the wall folded to form a doorway, Zechs had to leap out of the way as the lithe American flew into the suite, darting passed the antique love seat and through the first door on the left. Stunned, the man stood motionless near the open entrance, dazedly wondering just why the hell Duo Maxwell was loudly ruffling through his bedroom at one hour before curfew. He had a strange feeling he shouldn't ever mention it to Yuy, though he suspected he would end up having to explain the event to the stoic Japanese pilot one way or another.

He'd just regained his bearings, automatically prompting the wall to close just as Maxwell shot out of his bedroom and disappeared into Zechs' personal office. "Maxwell, you can't go in–"

"Help me look for it!" the Deathscythe pilot ordered. Through the open doorway, Zechs could see the American erratically shifting all of the books on the shelves before yanking on the three silver candelabrum sealed firmly to the walls.

"Look for what?" Zechs asked, already moving to search the bathroom. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was that had Maxwell worked into such a frenzied state must have been important.

"A secret entrance," Maxwell replied, already moving back into the den, prodding at solid walls and checking behind tapestries. When he was unsuccessful, he quickly scanned the room before casting his eyes to the floor; specifically, the large, beautifully woven rug that blanketed the smooth stone. "Help me move the furniture."

Zechs had intended to say no, desiring a full explanation of what Maxwell was up to before he agreed to do anything further. However, the American Gryffindor had taken the initiative, already pulling the chair away from the ornate rug before moving to the couch. At that point, Zechs gave up on any hope for a vague idea of what he was looking for and helped Duo slide the sofa off of the rug. Next came the coffee table, followed by the two side tables that supported an oil lantern each. After that task was completed, he and Duo went to the rug's edge and began rolling it away, revealing the smooth, seamless floor underneath.

Just to be sure, the American felt along the floor for a terse, silent moment, only to come up with nothing substantial. Maxwell fell back on his hunches, weary frustration made noticeable by the unusually somber frown on the American's disturbingly downtrodden face. "What am I missing?" Maxwell murmured quietly. "Clear head, Duo, snap to... My knowledge reflects between war and peace..." Eyes narrowing intently, he repeated absently, "Reflects... Mirrors?"

The Deathscythe pilot's amethyst eyes scanned the den for mirrors before they stopped on the portrait about the fireplace mantle.

Zechs followed the younger pilot's suspicious gaze, noticing in relief that the annoyingly condescending lady in the portrait had disappeared; probably off finding another book to read, as she didn't seem to have much of a social life involving anything that couldn't be read.

"Could it be...?" Maxwell mused breathlessly, gracefully bounding to his feet. He pulled a chair in front of the hearth, climbing first into the seat before using the back of the chair to propel himself onto the mantle, utilizing the chair as a makeshift ladder. The large portrait towered over him as he planted his hands on each side of the frame for balance.

"What are you doing?" Zechs finally asked, unable to hold the question in for any longer.

"Taking a leap of faith," Maxwell murmured. He lifted his right hand from the frame and spread his fingers just as he placed his hand on top of the painted surface. Zechs was a little startled when, instead of subjecting to the laws of physics, Duo's hand sunk into the portrait; his painted fingers wiggled experimentally as the Deathscythe pilot's eyes lit with manic triumph.

Still, his voice the pitch of calm, he murmured, "Okay. This is officially the freakiest hiding place ever." Then, with a deep, steadying breath, he slowly stepped over the golden frame. Once fully inside, Maxwell turned and stared at Zechs in a way clearly implying that the American couldn't quite believe he was inside of a portrait, either.

After regaining the ability to speak, Zechs gravely announced, "I give up. I'm never going to understand the wizarding world."

"If it makes you feel any better," Maxwell responded helpfully, "I don't think a lot of wizards could even hope to accomplish this much."

"You'll be correct in that assumption," a husky, aristocratic woman's voice drawled proudly. Maxwell glanced sharply to his left; there, in flesh and bone (or, perhaps the most appropriate terminology would be "paint and color"), was the lady who occupied the portrait.

"I did, after all," the woman added smugly, "develop this ingenious little reality."

Beautiful, proud, conceited. It could only be... "Lady Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Well, an impression of the original, in any case." She smiled with all of her pearly teeth, sweeping her hands to indicate the giant library that towered over them. "Welcome to Ravenclaw's Library."

_**END CHAPTER FIFTEEN**_

* * *

**Yay! Duo found the library! Executing the Dance of Joy... now. :does the Dance of Joy:**


	16. The Hogwarts Alliance

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mwahah! Done:_grins_: Yeah, yeah -took me longer than usual, but I managed. See bio for why it took me a bit longer than usual.**

**All thanks goes to my dear beta friend, 'Zanne. Without her, this chapter would be riddled with flaws. :_offers cookies to lovely beta_:**

**Onward!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Sixteen**_

* * *

Ravenclaw's Library was much bigger than anyone could have possibly imagined, though perhaps quite a bit different in shape. Aside for the single stack of books that rested behind the comfortable chair and the round table that Rowena Ravenclaw typically sat, posed right in front of the "portrait" of Zechs' den, the room was completely circular. There didn't seem to be any level, as the books simply started from the ground and continued to ascend on countless rows of shelves.

"There are three hundred and thirteen levels," Rowena informed him with a knowing smile, obviously amused when Duo tilted his head as far back as his neck allowed him. "Or an equivalent thereof, as the library extends straight up with no discernable way to reach the top. There are even scrolls from the library of Alexandria on the higher levels."

Okay. So Rowena Ravenclaw had a damn good reason to be smug. If the library was made up of her private collection, the woman had owned the largest private emporium of literature of her time.

"Nifty," Duo said, glancing at the graceful beauty in medieval dress from the corner of his eye. "I'm Duo Maxwell; we have a mutual acquaintance -ye tall, red eyes, cute as a button, calls himself the Oracle? He sent me."

The noblewoman's honey brown eyes narrowed the moment the Gryffindor mentioned red eyes. "You've met him? Truly?"

The peculiar infliction of sudden irritation in Ravenclaw's husky voice didn't escape Duo's attention, nor did the sudden dangerous twitch of her right eyelid. The American absently wondered what Orie did that brought such a mood from the Founder. Instead of prying, he filed the interesting reaction away and cheerfully replied, "Yep. He's lurking in the Chamber of Secrets as we speak. He even gave me that swanky little riddle that brought me here -hard cheese, but as you can see, I managed."

Ravenclaw stared at him, nonplused. Addressing her next statement to no one in particular, she murmured absently, "The youth of today certainly have such a strange way of speaking."

Duo shrugged nonchalantly. "I get that a lot. So... Orie mentioned that we can find a ritual here. One that requires the Heirs of Hogwarts, the Boy Who Lived, and the school's own brand of weaponry. We could really use that ritual right about now."

"Ah," Ravenclaw murmured, her expression sobering. "So it is come to pass, just as the Oracle promised." Then, with a delicate raise of an eyebrow, the Founder echoed questioningly, "Orie?"

Belatedly, Duo realized he could have subtly coaxed the Oracle's real name from the Founder without the woman becoming none-the-wiser of Duo's baiting. The birth of the realization was too little, too late. "Our mutual acquaintance isn't very forthcoming with his name."

She nodded her head gracefully. "I would expect no less from the Oracle." With an inquiring glance, she asked, "If I may be so bold, Maxwell... What is your role in this?"

Damn. He glanced at the portrait of Zechs' den and found the room empty, as far as he could tell. With his voice pitched low, he murmured quietly, "I'm the Heir of Slytherin."

He knew that his ancestor had a falling out with the other Founders before the man left Hogwarts for good. With that in mind, he warily prepared himself for some lingering animosity from Ravenclaw -not the real Ravenclaw, he pointedly reminded himself, but perhaps the closest representation of the woman that anyone would ever find. He wasn't prepared to see her eyes soften, her perfect posture relaxing into one of motherly affection. "Salazar's Heir... I've been eagerly awaiting my chance to meet you. Sal often spoke of you fondly -at least, what he knew of you through the Oracle."

Duo blinked, a little stunned by the revelation. "Really? I mean... Well, why?" The shady Founder had been anti-muggle in the worst way; why would he have been proud of a descendant who had lived most of his life as the one thing the man had despised above all others?

"Of course," Rowena said warmly, smiling again. "He often referred to you as the Redemption of the Line of Slytherin." She settled in her reading chair, gently placing the book she'd intended to read on the table beside her before she met Duo's eyes again, her expression earnest and leaving no doubt to the validity of her words. "He was despondent to hear that one of his blood would strike terror into the hearts of the innocent and provoke chaos and disorder in wizarding society. When the Oracle proposed we meddle in the affairs of the future, Sal was ecstatic that you would be playing a key role in ending the terrible reign of the Disinherited."

So Salazar Slytherin really had been cheering Duo on over a millennium ago, like the Oracle implied? Surreal...

There was sudden movement in the portrait. Duo's head snapped to the side, relaxing his tense shoulders in relief when he spotted Heero sweeping through the suite's entrance in the center of the portrait. In a lot of ways, Ravenclaw's Library and Zechs' suite resembled one another in dimensions; both rooms were circular, but where Zechs' den had doors leading to other rooms, the library was nothing but a wall of books. The bookcase that Rowena posed in front of spoiled the illusion from the other side. Likewise, the higher elevation of Rowena's portrait gave the woman an almost smugly superior view of Zechs' den, as if she were looking down on the outside world with a certain amount of transcendence. Duo wouldn't doubt that the real Rowena Ravenclaw had position her portrait double just for that affect; she would have wanted herself to have a reason to stroke her own ego.

Orie wasn't kidding about Rowena's strongest flaw -benevolent to friends, but irritatingly conceited nonetheless.

Following Heero were the others, Zechs immediately bringing up the rear behind Wufei. The Preventer prompted the wall shut before any passers-by could see into the room.

Wufei's reaction to seeing Duo inside of Zechs' portrait was the most amusing; the Chinese Ravenclaw, almond-shaped eyes impossibly wide, stumbled back into Zechs in disbelief. The older man's hands grasped Wufei's shoulders to steady him. Wufei... blushed. The former White Fang leader seemed to freeze for a moment before looking around to see if the others had noticed. He visibly relaxed when he saw the others otherwise enraptured with Duo's state.

Duo, of course, had a grand view of it.

Oooh. Juicy.

Draco, however, was a little less surprised and a little more derogatory with his reaction. With a weary sigh, he muttered waspishly, "Oh, spirits, he's had himself _painted_. Portraits of Hogwarts, beware."

Without missing a beat, Duo nonchalantly replied, "Not quite -but it's a good idea. I'll have to make a note of that."

Quatre was the first to work out how Duo ended up inside of a portrait -and why. Expression brightening, the blond Hufflepuff exclaimed, "Duo! You found it!"

Trowa, visibly impressed with either Duo's success or Ravenclaw's secret entrance (or both), simply murmured, "It was right in front of us the whole time and we never noticed it... brilliant."

Lady Ravenclaw visibly preened.

"I'm happy for you," Zechs said sardonically before pointedly asking, "What is it?"

Heero cast a silencing charm on the closed wall blocking the entrance to the suite, just in case anyone would press their ears to the wall in the event that they'd been followed -unlikely that spies would have gone unnoticed by five seasoned soldiers, but a necessary precautionary nonetheless.

"Ravenclaw's Library," Draco responded to the muggle's question absently, before he turned a skeptical gaze to Heero. "How lucky are we that Agent Marquise resides in the very suite with this particular portrait?"

"Suspiciously lucky," Heero replied, frowning.

_Wonderful_, Duo thought peevishly. _He's contributing to Hee-chan's paranoia. Good going, ferret boy_.

Wufei, catching on to what Heero was implying, said incredulously, "You think Dumbledore could have known about this?"

"I doubt it," Duo said, shaking his head. "You guys scoured every book about Hogwarts you could find. Ravenclaw's Library wasn't even mentioned. Even Orie admitted the only reason anyone knew of the Chamber of Secrets was because it was meant to be found so he would be discovered."

"We shouldn't question our good fortune," Quatre pointed out logically. "Instead, we need to point Hermione in this direction so she can find the ritual we need without revealing that we were looking for it in the first place."

Oh. "Uh," Duo hummed, looking at Rowena sheepishly. "You might have to pretend you've never met me."

Intrigued, the woman prodded slowly, "Go on."

"Harry Potter -you know, the kid the Founders did all of this for -well, he and his friends are more focused on Orie's prophecy. They don't know that we're involved at all."

"But you are an Heir of Hogwarts," Rowena said with a worried frown. "Why would they not involve you?"

"Because they don't know," Draco said, only a little frustrated. "In fact, the only Heir I've officially found is Gryffindor's, and that was by pure chance."

"Ah, but I am impressed you lack only two Heirs," Rowena replied with a smug, knowing smile. "After all, helping the Child Death Refused through our descendants required there to be a way for him to find our Heirs in the first place. That is why you must now seek the Founders' Legacies."

"The Founders' Legacies?" Trowa murmured in bemusement.

"Yes," Rowena said with a superior nod. "Four complete maps of our lineage -our family tapestries, located in Hufflepuff's Hall."

Grand. "Orie neglected to mention there would be another secret room I'd have to search for," Duo said dryly. Secretive bastard...

"One of his more irritating qualities," Rowena murmured ruefully. "Just as my companions knew nothing of the location of my library other than the riddle I provided, I am equally ignorant of the location to the others -Slytherin's Chamber, Hufflepuff's Hall, and Gryffindor's Hammer. While I cannot tell you the exact location, I can provide the riddle meant to lead you to it."

"Go for it," Duo said, mustering his renewed enthusiasm. After finding Ravenclaw's Library, he felt rather optimistic about finding Hufflepuff's Hall. _Bring it on, pesky hidden rooms of Hogwarts. Detective Duo is on the case_.

"My legacy is no more and no less than my fellow man. Our goals are as equal on common ground. Through song, you will be enlightened."

"Oh, goody," Duo said, cheerfully sarcastic. "Can't go wrong with vagueness."

"Bringing us back to an interesting question," Trowa said, "how do we point Hermione in this direction?"

"And utilize the library for ourselves," Wufei added vehemently, crossing his arms stubbornly. "The opportunity to learn even more is in that library. I refuse to let Granger hoard it."

Smiling slowly, Duo's eyes twinkled merrily as he replied, "I do believe I have the perfect solution to our little dilemma, my friends."

----------

So Hermione took the mysterious -and highly suspicious -stranger's advice. For three days she delayed further research into any form of ritual that would involve the Four Heirs and Harry. Though she was reluctant to admit it, Ron had the right idea. Stepping away from books that didn't involve school or fiction had given her plenty of opportunity to clear her head. She even had more time to spend with Ron and Harry.

Of course, on their outdoor venture, Hermione had to convince Trowa that the Whomping Willow wasn't exactly the best tree to climb. Unfortunately, the Slytherin could not be persuaded to see reason.

"What in the world does he think he's _doing_?" Hermione half-shrieked, half-demanded as she literally bolted to the group gathered a safe distance away from the volatile tree, save for the tall, slim Slytherin who was boldly approaching ground zero -the area in which the Whomping Willow could successfully land a blow with one of many of its long branches. Much to her confusion, no one was stopping Trowa. Duo was even casually crunching on a bag of muggle potato chips, though only Lord knew how he'd managed to find such a rarity unless he had taken the initiative and packed a secret stash.

"Oh," Duo said, a surprisingly pleased look on his face as he turned to look at her. "Hey, 'Mione. Don't worry about Tro. He knows what he's doing." He held out the open bag of chips, smiling invitingly. "Muggle junk food? I'd offer you Skittles, but Draco ganked mine.(1)"

Black shot the American a scathing look. "You _gave_ them to me, you prat."

"Because you were eyeing them like I've seen you zeroing in on coffee," Duo said promptly, smirking at the blond. "Far be it for me to get in the way of such an obvious addiction."

"You don't have any proper junk food," Draco said bitterly, pouring a handful of the colorful candies in his palm. "This is the next best alternative. It doesn't count."

Hermione stared at them, baffled. Duo parried easily, "Yeah, but you like them best of all muggle things. Point is, you like muggle candy when it's convenient." He grinned boldly. "That's a win in my book."

Draco nonchalantly popped a couple of the candies in his mouth. "Shut up, Duo."

"What are they talking about?" Ron muttered having only been a few paces behind Hermione and Harry. Hermione shook her head wordlessly, completely lost.

"Duo is hellbent on making Draco appreciate muggle conveniences," Harry explained quietly. "They had electricity installed at the mansion. Draco knows the basic functions of a television and a disc player now."

A part of her was amused that Duo would go so far, but the sensible part was in firm control. "Isn't anyone going to stop him? He's going to get hurt!"

"Nah," Duo shrugged. "He's fine. Just watch."

Maybe they merely didn't know what the tree did, though she couldn't fathom why Black would have neglected to mention anything. "That tree swings its branches at anyone who gets close, Duo."

Duo laughed. "I know! Draco told us. That's why Trowa is going to give it a workout."

"You don't have to worry, Hermione," Quatre said earnestly, turning to smile at her. "Trowa's a professional."

"A professional... tree fighter?" Ron inquired slowly, staring as the Slytherin paused to stretch just outside the Whomping Willow's range. _He must be barking mad. That has to be it_.

"Nope," Duo said cheerfully, burying his hand in the bag of potato chips. "A professional circus performer." He happily stuffed his mouth with the thin potato chips, crunching on them thoughtfully as he reconsidered his original description. "Kind of like a gymnast, really, only a lot cooler."

Hermione was about to delve deeper into that rather mind-boggling revelation (_Trowa Barton? Circus performer? **That** Trowa Barton_?), but her question cut into a shout of horror when the Slytherin took a running leap into the Whomping Willow's personal space.

The tree blurred into action, violently swinging several of its long branches at the intruder. Hermione's following shriek was intercepted by a sudden lack of air, causing her to quickly inhale through her mouth. By no means had Trowa froze in wait of the blow. He ducked the first, jumped at the second that came immediately after, and flipped out of the path of a gargantuan limb that had mercilessly pounded into the ground from above.

The Willow was a little slow to recover, and Hermione hoped that Trowa had the inclination to take the chance to claim the win. The spry Slytherin took the opportunity to scale easily onto the trunk by way of several smaller branches. It had almost taken him no time at all to reach the apex, and then he sprinted down toward end of the tree's reach -a path that was leading toward his audience. Unfortunately, his actions did not seem to be following along with Hermione's private hopes because he stopped in place. Then he crouched down and grabbed the limb firmly, bracing his feet close to his body.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured dazedly just as the Willow began raising that same, thick branch high into the air, straight up. Just as it reached into the sky, Trowa adjusted his position by hopping branches to the other side of the thick limb, releasing his grip, and using feet to spring away from the tree. The move probably saved his life; the branch wasn't so slow going down, smashing to the ground on the opposite side of the stunned audience.

Their eyes were glued to Trowa as he somersaulted and twirled in mid air, spiraling downward before he landed solidly on his feet, bracing to compensate for the sheer fall. He easily slid down the trunk. The second his feet were planted on solid ground, he was making a dash for the perimeter of the Whomping Willow's reach.

Hermione held her breath in anticipation, only to lose it when Quatre suddenly broke line and sprinted forward. It took a second to realize why. An attack from behind had forced Trowa to leap forward, just barely avoiding the swinging branch. His momentum brought him to the ground, and had he not tucked his body under and rolled, it would have been a nasty fall. He was still on his knees recovering when another winding branch attempted to blind-side him.

That was, until Quatre skidded to a halt in the path of the punishing branch, standing guard between Trowa and that which meant to harm him. He reflexively raised his forearm to protect himself.

"Shi- Quatre!" Duo yelled, starting to run to his friend's aid. His pace slowed when the tree came to a standstill -limb just inches away from striking the blond. When the Willow moved no further, Quatre brazenly reached out and laid his palm on the branch that had intended to strike at his boyfriend.

Hermione's mind was spinning. Why did the Whomping Willow stop? Unless the blond was prone to accidental magic, she hadn't seen him cast a petrifying spell. Judging by his rash stunt, he hadn't even really considered using magic an option.

And the violent Willow had stopped. It stopped for Quatre.

_How?_

"That was bloody brilliant," Ron exclaimed, eagerly following the others as they moved closer to examine the strange series of occurrences and to check the status of their downed companion. Hermione followed as well, hoping to find answers to the myriad of questions floating around her mind.

They closed in at the edge of the tree's reach just as Trowa was carefully coming to his feet. He moved closer to Quatre, whose face was aglow with concentration and some amount of amazement. "What are you doing?"

"I can feel her," Quatre murmured quietly, lost in the sensation of communicating with the willow. "In my heart. It's..." Words could not describe what he was feeling.

"What does she feel like?" Trowa asked.

_... 'Feel like'?_

"Is this like when you said the Forbidden Forest felt... heavy? Dark?" Harry probed, as if he'd heard or seen Quatre display this unusual behavior before. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if Harry had forgotten about it, or at least written the event off as something unimportant.

"No," the blond murmured, running his palm along the rough bark. "The forest is draining, almost malevolently so. This is alive," Quatre added immediately, smiling softly. "Very, very alive."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ron interrupted, cutting off further conversation with his hands. "You mean to tell me that you can _talk to trees_?"

"It's not as simple as that," Draco shot off sneeringly, throwing Ron a disgusted look over his shoulder. "Didn't you hear him say he can feel it? Trees can't talk."

Hermione could almost hear Black mentally tack on, _you dolt_, but the blond refrained from doing so because Harry would only kick him in the back of the knee like the last time he had caustically insulted the Gryffindor's friends for no reason.

Quatre didn't seem to notice the discussion raging on around him. He was absently stroking the trunk, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

Wait. Feel? _Feel..._

It clicked. "You're an empath!"

That did catch the Hufflepuff's attention. Without removing his palm from the bark of the Whomping Willow, Quatre turned half of his body towards her, smiling slightly.

"The heart," Duo said promptly, grinning playfully at her. "Remember, Hermione? Quatre's the heart."

Hermione, ready to blurt one of the thousands of questions spinning about her head dizzily, instantly closed her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. She remembered. Not long after Quatre stumbled into the wizarding world and on the very evening the rest of them followed, Duo had explained what each of his friends meant to him. While he compared most of them to some aspect of nature, Quatre had been the only one the American had likened to an organ commonly associated with emotions.

"Uh," came a timid interruption, "guys? Mind stepping away from the incredibly violent and unusually docile Whomping Willow for a second?"

It was an unusual mixture of students from different houses that gathered a safe distance behind most of the group. Of the Gryffindor House, there representing was Neville and Ginny. Pansy and Blaise stood off to the side, distancing themselves from most of the others. The Ravenclaws present were Luna and Mandy. And from Hufflepuff, Susan, Justin, and Hannah were sort of hovering uncertainly away from the rest of them, and completely opposite of the Slytherins.

"Hey, just in time," Duo said cheerfully, bounding over to the newcomers with a jubilant wave. "I'm glad you guys came. It's such a nice day out, so I thought it would be fun if we hang out by the lake today before the weather started turning."

"We?" Ron parroted blankly.

"At least he neglected to mention his plans to all of us," Mandy said dryly, shaking her head at Duo. "Really, Maxwell, a hastily scrawled 'Meet me at the Whomping Willow ASAP -Duo' conjures up negative thinking."

"Seriously?" Duo said innocently. "Whoops. Sorry about that."

Perhaps the most phenomenal part was that they were all getting along. Well, as well as anyone could get along when Draco finally tired of endlessly insulting those he felt deserved his derision. Whatever problem could have cropped up because of the snobby little prat's poor attitude was eventually prevented by Duo's cheeky wisecracks and endless retorts, which immediately inspired a battle of wits that would have gone on for hours if someone didn't change the subject as soon as the opportunity allowed.

Once everyone caught on, it wasn't long before all adopted an easygoing outlook to Draco's insults. Even Neville was quick with an easy retort when he became the subject of Draco's attitude. The Slytherin Prince, surprisingly enough, seemed pleased with the development, as if to say, "Good. I don't play with simpering losers." In fact, he _did_ say those exact words the very first time Neville stared him in the eyes and delivered an even retort in his own defense.

This was what the Founders wanted; what the Sorting Hat had been encouraging for three years. House unity was certainly important, but _Hogwarts_ unity was even more ideal in times of duress. And they were setting the example -five Slytherins, six Gryffindors, four Hufflepuffs, and three Ravenclaws.

On the third day, Hermione spent her final evening of rest with Ron and Harry. as it was a Tuesday evening, the others had decided to use their prefect privileges and venture into Hogsmeade. Those that did not have such privileges -namely Neville, Duo, and Trowa -had innocently requested the use of Harry's map and invisibility cloak. To be fair, Duo had been the one posing the request; Trowa didn't even look up from his book while Neville suddenly began to worry about what nefarious things were in store of him, and how he was going to get out of it.

Not that Duo would let him get out of it. Hermione suspected that Zabini intended to be in Hogsmeade by means of his own.

It was when it was just the three of them -the original Gryffindor Trio -that Hermione decided to propose a change. "I think we should clue the others in about the prophecy."

Poised to throw a card down on a growing pile, Harry froze. The card slipped from his nerveless fingers before touching the floor with a loud 'snap!' The green-eyed boy stared at her in surprise, hardly aware of the exploding card.

Ron, blinking in befuddlement, croaked hoarsely, "What?"

"Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Draco know. They even help when they can, and Draco's been working as hard as I have." Here's where she had to explain her sudden change of mind. "I'll be honest -I find it very difficult to trust Duo and his friends, mostly because they aren't very forthcoming about their pasts. But they seem so genuinely earnest about keeping us all safe, and they're very good friends of ours... Maybe it's time to bring them up to speed about what we're doing."

Harry shook himself from his shock, turning to grin at the redhead across from him. "You owe Draco a week of complacent tolerance."

Ron mumbled a stream of bitter curses under his breathe. Frowning, Hermione said, "Ron, don't swear. Harry... what?"

"Draco bet Ron that you'd eventually change your mind about keeping the others in the dark. He was pretty sure you'd realize everything would be easier with more help." Harry grinned teasingly at the redhead. "Ron said you were too stubborn to even consider it."

"Harry," Ron hissed before smiling nervously at his girlfriend. The youngest Weasley son had every right to feel unnerved, if Hermione's stern glare was anything to go by.

"Stubborn?" she repeated archly as the redhead began to sweat. He nearly gasped in relief when an owl swooped down the staircase leading to the girls' dorm, immediately finding a perch on the arm of the chair Hermione was sitting in. One could only assume the owl had utilized an open window in the tower to find her at such an odd time during the evening, while most owl post arrived in massive droves during the morning hours.

Ire almost completely forgotten, Hermione carefully removed the small envelope that had been tied to the barn owl's leg with an emerald green ribbon. Her name was the only thing written on the front in crisp, nondescript handwriting.

Ron was instantly wary. "Who's that from?"

Without replying, she pulled the flap that had been tucked into the lower lip of the envelope and pulled out a simple square of parchment that had been folded in half.

_Hermione,_

_You will locate what you desire on the fourth floor north  
__wing between the portrait of the angels and the battle  
__between giants and men._

_Wait there for further instructions._

_Yours in partnership,  
__the Heir of Slytherin_

She bolted to her feet, her eyes scarcely leaving the simple note that she found herself grasping tightly in her hands. It was as the stranger -_Orie_ -had promised; this was her sign! And from someone who signed the message as 'the Heir of Slytherin'! Yet, one thing still bothered her. How could a stranger know such a thing...?

"What is it?" Harry said, placing his forgotten cards on the coffee table before standing up and moving to Hermione's side. Ron, taking his cue from harry, scrambled from his seat on the floor to approach Hermione's other side.

"We need to head for the north wing on the fourth floor," Hermione said eagerly, fairly shoving the note into Harry's hands before hurriedly donning a warm evening cloak for the late walk through the school. Curfew wasn't for another few hours yet, though she still felt leery about venturing so far from Gryffindor Tower.

"The Heir of Slytherin!" Ron yelped, agog. "So... So You Know Who does have a kid?"

"I doubt Voldemort would go out of his way to help us in any way, shape, or form," Harry replied, frowning thoughtfully. "I'm a little curious about how someone we can't seem to find knows about what we're doing -and what he or she thinks we need that's on the fourth floor."

Hermione, thrumming with rekindled enthusiasm, smiled eagerly as she reverently breathed, "I don't know; he didn't tell me. But I suspect whatever it is, it's where I'll most likely find exactly what we need -the ritual mentioned in the prophecy!"

"He who?" Harry asked, baffled. The two boys rushed after her as she crawled out of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

"Draco's friend," Hermione admitted as she hurried up several flights of stairs, hardly sparing her friends a glance to see if they were keeping up with her pace. "Well, Draco's whatever -oh, wait!" She cried, finally glancing at them from over her shoulder. "Do you think this means Orie is the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Who the bloody hell is Orie?" Ron demanded, sounding oddly jealous.

"He's the one who suggested I take a break from researching, remember?" Hermione replied, finally arriving on the fifth floor before turning a corner in the direction of the east corridor. "Draco and I were arguing about him after he told us, well, about you."

"And you were _alone_ with this Orie guy?" Ron demanded incredulously. "Hermione! The Heir of _Slytherin_! Remember who we're talking about here!" He stopped suddenly. "Didn't you ever think that we could be running straight into a trap?"

Harry slowed to a stop, a few paces in front of Ron. The redhead did have a valid point. Hermione had been forced to halt progress, as well, but she didn't appear to consider the idea likely. In fact, Hermione actually laughed somewhat incredulously, though she remained suspiciously silent. If Harry had to take a guess, the Head Girl thought such a statement was rich coming from either one of them.

Reason ruled out suspicion. "It's fine, Ron," Harry said in her defense. "Consider what's going on -he has to be on our side, if he's helping us find what we need."

They finally found the two paintings that Slytherin's Heir had made references to; however, between both portraits was nothing but a blank wall. There also appeared to be nothing that would give Hermione any information that would prove there was anything behind the wall.

That was, until Wufei and Trowa arrived, the Chinese Ravenclaw pointedly waving a letter similar in size of Hermione's mysterious note. With a raised eyebrow, Wufei said, "Would one of you like to explain this?"

Frowning, Hermione took the letter from Wufei and glanced over the message.

_Wufei,_

_Hermione needs help. You will find her in front of Marquise's  
__suite. Help her search for her library._

_Yours in partnership,  
__the Heir of Slytherin_

Hermione narrowed her eyes on the note, murmuring, "Agent Marquise's suite...?" Library?

Trowa, taking the initiative, immediately pounded rhythmically on the wall between the portraits with the side of his fist one, two, pause, three-four times. With the other hand, he silently urged the Gryffindors to keep their questions to themselves by placing his finger on his lips. After only a few restless moments, the wall silently folded open.

Agent Zechs Marquise stood in the entryway long enough to note the group that stood outside of his suite before he stood aside to let them in. As soon as the wall folded back into place, he turned to the collection of teenagers in his suite and said, almost casually, "I'd hoped this wouldn't become a habit." Hermione noticed his offhand comment was directed mostly toward Wufei and Trowa.

"We hadn't intended it," Trowa said evenly.

Wufei looked at Hermione expectantly, lifting his letter again. "Want to tell us what you need help with, Granger?"

God, that condescending droll was annoying. As if sensing Hermione's irritation, Harry said, "It's a part of what we've been up to recently. It's kind of a long story, but it boils down to this: we need to find the Heirs of Hogwarts, and we need to find a ritual. Apparently, it's the ideal solution for our Dark Lord problem."

Trowa and Wufei didn't even bother to pretend to be surprised. "It's about time," the Chinese youth grunted, crossing his arms as he lifted his head proudly. "Maxwell has been trembling like an eager puppy in anticipation of joining the adventure since he put two and two together on the train."

"But why meet in Zechs' suite?" Trowa inquired thoughtfully. "And who is the Heir of Slytherin?"

"As for the Heir of Slytherin... we don't know," Hermione admitted. "So far we've only found Gryffindor's Heir; rather, Draco found them. The Weasley family."

"The whole family?" Trowa murmured, intrigued.

"As far as we know," Harry said, shrugging. "We're a little unclear on the technicalities, which is why we really need that ritual to help explain it."

"And you don't know anything about the person who sent me this letter?" Wufei asked.

"I... have a theory," Hermione replied uncertainly. "There's no way I can prove it without asking him -and I've only seen him once."

The two seemed satisfied with her response. "So why would Slytherin's Heir lead us here?" the reserved Slytherin prompted again, motioning their surroundings with a simple tilt of his head.

"Good question," Marquise muttered dryly. Instead of waiting for a response, he turned on his heels and disappeared into what appeared to have been his private office, muttering something about washing his hands of everything entirely and ignoring the fact his solace away from teenagers and children had been invaded.

Hermione, while slightly sympathetic to the man's plight, didn't feel very inclined to leave. "That, I think I do know," Hermione said slowly, her eyes taking in every inch of the room. "A library. Specifically, a hidden... one..."

She couldn't believe it. There, above the mantle of the elaborate fireplace, was the painting of a beautiful, pale brunette with honey-brown eyes and a long, graceful neck. The woman's attention appeared to be entranced in her book, but the small, knowing smirk on her painted cupid-bow lips said otherwise.

"Rowena Ravenclaw," Hermione breathed in awe, her feet carrying her closer to the fireplace. "Your picture is in _Hogwarts, A History_. You're Rowena Ravenclaw!"

"Such a smart witch in the House of Gryffindor," the woman responded in amusement, finally lifting her eyes from her book to stare down at Hermione in a superior fashion. "I suppose you would be the girl dear Sal's Heir told me to expect."

"Sal?" Ron mouthed almost soundlessly; the redhead glanced questioningly at Harry, who seemed more than a little stunned by Rowena's obvious fondness for a man who, according to history, left Hogwarts in a state of upheaval.

"Oh, yes," Hermione nearly squealed, hardly able to contain her building excitement. "In the note... '_her_ library'. Was he talking about...?" Eyes gleaming feverishly, she asked breathlessly, "Do you have a private library, Lady Ravenclaw?"

Ron stifled a groan of disappointment. Just when he was beginning to think that his girlfriend was getting over her book fetish, along came a sweeter temptation -_old_ books.

Rowena Ravenclaw set her book on the table before beckoning Hermione forward. "An eager disciple of literature surely deserves such an opportunity to behold it. Please come in, Ms. Granger. My library has plenty to offer those who seek knowledge."

"But..." Hermione started uncertainly, not quite sure what the portrait of Ravenclaw was attempting to get across. When she finally looked at the rest of the portrait -specifically, the scenery -it finally clicked. "The portrait is the entrance," Hermione gasped, almost completely overcome with curiosity and wonder. "However did you manage such an extraordinary feat?"

"You mean creating an alternate reality wherein the portal resembles that of a painting, then leaving an independent memory of myself grounded in said alternate reality in which its own kinetic energy is enough to sustain me for this long? Simple, really." The Founder smirked with an air of smug superiority. "I'm brilliant."

"Christ," came a world-weary exclamation from an unexpected source just before the door of Marquise's office closed. To be fair to Marquise, he probably put up with the Founder's conceit daily. And even Hermione, blatantly star struck, had to admit that Ravenclaw was a little over the limit.

The Head Girl sobered, turning to look at Harry decisively. Finally, she said, "We should go find Draco first."

"Correction," Harry said bluntly, "_I_ will go find Draco."

Swearing on his honor to be civil to Harry's friends be damned, Draco would feel the overwhelming urge to gloat and conveniently forget that Hermione was around if she came along with Harry. Best let him have his say for the sake of peace. "Ron can stay with you, too." Wouldn't be prudent to give Draco the convenience of his selective memory disorder another victim, since the redhead was the one who, in the end, lost a wager. Then again, considering what the wager was, Draco wouldn't really care if Ron was around to hear him.

"If Duo isn't in the Gryffindor common room already," Wufei said pointedly, "he's with Draco, Heero, and Quatre. They should be coming back from Hogsmeade by now." The Chinese Ravenclaw glanced at Zechs' office door, frowning a little. "I should probably talk to Marquise."

Trowa nodded in agreement. "I'll help Harry find them, then."

"I can go see if any of them made it back to their common rooms," Hermione volunteered, drawing startled glances from them. Even Trowa was visibly surprised that Hermione wasn't protesting at the undiscussed inclusion of the others, as Wufei had previously predicted.

"We'd already agreed to telling you all what was going on," Harry supplied helpfully.

Nodding thoughtfully, Trowa emitted a short 'hm' of acknowledgment before he murmured, "Didn't see that coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, forcefully calm. After Ron's little admission earlier, she was a little prickly about suspicious statements such as that.

Unfortunately, Wufei took the chance to tell her the truth in the most blunt, disgruntled way possible. "He means you're a stubborn woman, Granger."

Hermione had it in mind to scold Wufei for his assessment despite the unquestionable accuracy of it, but Ravenclaw interjected on the girl's behalf. The woman, posture prim and elegant, said smartly, "All the more power to young Granger, I believe." The Lady in the portrait smiled down at Hermione. "Not to be deterring you from your self-appointed task, child, but I would like to speak with you privately, if I may." Then, almost slyly, she cast a glance at Ron and said, quite innocently, "You may come along, as well."

For some reason, Ron felt a little unnerved. He vainly hoped his unease was founded only in his imagination. Somehow, judging by the way the Lady Ravenclaw's dark eyes were glittering, he suspected that he was going to be sorely disappointed in his positive assessment.

"We'll be back soon," Harry promised his two friends as he followed Trowa to the door. Wufei was already knocking solidly on the office door before letting himself in, closing it behind him. As soon as they were gone, Hermione conjured a step ladder and scrambled to the mantel. At first, Ron didn't see how going into the library would be such an easy task, but Hermione experimentally pressed her hand to the painting only for it to slide through the cool, tingling surface.

She was completely inside the portrait in a millisecond, forcing Ron to follow her in a more reserved pace.

When Hermione rounded the corner of the single bookshelf posed in front of the entrance, she inhaled sharply as she studied what was hidden behind it. Behind the shelf was an elegant seating area consisting of a Victorian-style couch, several Elizabethan chairs, a small nondescript love seat; and a dark oak table surrounded by six mated chairs, placed a fair distance away from the more comfortable furniture. Endless towers of books neatly packed onto their shelves extended upward as far as her eyes could see. Curiously, there didn't seem to be any way to access any book higher than her hands could reach.

"How do you get to the books that are out of reach?" Hermione asked, turning to meet eyes with Ravenclaw. The woman smiled prettily, but there was an air of self-satisfaction permeating the atmosphere.

"They come at my command," Ravenclaw simpered, genuinely pleased to be exalting over her personal role in the creation of Ravenclaw's Library. "I know every book in this library intimately, just as I know exactly where each individual book is placed."

"So you're like Super Librarian," Ron piped, earning a stern glare from his girlfriend.

Luckily for him, Ravenclaw didn't seem to take offense at all. "That is one way of putting it, yes." After all, super was a good thing, in her opinion. Granted, genius and brilliant were much better labels, but super was good enough from a Gryffindor.

Ron shot Hermione a smug glance, going so far as tauntingly sticking his tongue out at her.

Ravenclaw, hardly skipping a beat, added breezily, "Of course, I prefer to call myself a greatly noted scholar acting in the place of a librarian for the greater good, but those of your ilk like to keep things simple." She slanted him a sly look. "You are Gryffindor's heir."

"Well, yes," Hermione stuttered, stunned. Ron blinked owlishly at the woman, trying to decide if he should have been honored that his kinship with Godric Gryffindor was so noticeable, or offended by the possible insult to his forefather. "How did you-?"

Ravenclaw stopped the girl's question by flicking her wrist next to her ear. "A remarkable family resemblance, nothing more. His Lordship had a stronger jaw-line. It is the bridge of the nose -not the width, mind you -and the shape and set of the eyes that first captured my interest. Godric Gryffindor had kind brown eyes, and the same ginger hair."

Then, speaking directly to Ron, she said primly, "Your ancestor was a great man. A noble man. Never in my existence have I known a man that was as brave or as brutally honest as my dear Creator's friend, his Lordship Godric Gryffindor." Than, smirking, she added dryly, "Now one can only hope a certain amount of impulse control has been bred into you. The gods know that idiot was sorely lacking any control of his own."

Ron and Hermione clearly didn't know how to reply to such a backhanded compliment. When it became obvious that Ravenclaw's words were garnering no responses, she added airily, "Though I've no doubt the infamous obstinacy of the Gryffindors has been passed down through the generations. Even my Creator could not convince that stubborn ass that keeping a basilisk as a pet -and on school grounds, even! -was a horrible idea all around." She sniffed, turning her nose in the air as she muttered disparagingly, "Talking sense into that man was the equivalent of flying straight into a brick wall and expecting to come out of it completely unscathed."

Hermione latched onto the one thing that sounded off. "Basilisk? You can't mean the one in the Chamber of Secrets, can you?"

"The same," Ravenclaw confirmed grudgingly; apparently, the impression of the Founder still felt a little bitter over the whole ordeal. "Wretched beast that it is, dear Azraiel. How is it that you know of the creature that lurks beneath?"

"No way," Ron was mumbling. "I thought the basilisk was Slytherin's monster!"

"I guess the history books got it wrong," Hermione murmured, a little dazed herself. "Well, actually, the existence of the Chamber of Secrets was only confirmed very recently, so all we really had to go on was oral legend."

"In that case," Ravenclaw said, "I suppose the monster belonging to Sal would be the only logical conclusion. In truth, he cared little for the beast aside for company when he confined himself in the Chamber. He was too softhearted to slay it by his own hands."

Salazar Slytherin? Softhearted? _I'm beginning to suspect all previous conceptions about the Founders are near to becoming obsolete_, Hermione mused thoughtfully. Instead of continuing down the line of conversation, she made a point to indicate the unusual choice of seating. "The furniture here is rather eclectic, and certainly before the time of the Founders."

Ravenclaw smiled, placing a hand on a one of the chairs. Right before Hermione's eyes, it changed into modern lounge chair with a matching ottoman. "The contents of this dimension is malleable to my needs. The suite outside has been subject to many changes in regards to furniture." The noblewoman bowed her head daintily. "Some new styles, I find, are to my liking. Most of the modern furniture I've seen is quite attractive, but I fear I shall always treasure the classics." She spared a husky chuckle -more of a dainty cackle, really. "By my ancestors, it is a sight more comfortable than what we had to put up with in my era."

She pointed accusingly at the table surrounded by chairs, all obviously careworn and basic compared to the rest of the room. The wood was faded and unadorned, just as the matching chairs were. It was an eyesore compared to the rest of the room. "I am unfortunate enough that I do not have a chance to see how tables have come along since my day."

Ron and Hermione glanced incredulously at each other behind her back. Ravenclaw's personality was far more outspoken than either of them had expected, and her behavior indicated that she was incredibly materialistic. The redheaded pointed at the Lady Ravenclaw's back and mouthed, 'Is she for real?'

The bushy-haired Gryffindor shrugged helplessly, though her expression conveyed that she suspected that the Founder was authentic. "We can bring pictures," Hermione volunteered, a little uncertain. Ravenclaw's elegant shoulders pulled back as she straightened. She turned to them with such a feverish gleam in her dark brown eyes that both of the Gryffindors unthinkingly took a step back.

"Will you really?" she whispered, reservedly ecstatic. "And books? Will you bring me books? It's been so long, and there are still many more shelves to fill..."

_She's more obsessed about books than _Hermione! Ron thought, flicking another glance at his girlfriend. Hermione's uncertainty had settled into an enthusiastic smile, and her head bobbed eagerly.

"Of course I will! What kind of books do you want?"

Ron inwardly groaned. Just as he thought she was starting to recover from her book fetish, he lost her to a new mission. _Aw, hell, she's never going to leave now..._

"It's easier to ask what I do not want in my library," Ravenclaw said, rearing her head back haughtily. Ron suspected it was only easier for _her_ to explain what she didn't want. His theory was proven correct when she started her laundry list of banned material. "Anything on Quidditch is forbidden, and keep the books of art sparse of both numbers and words. Art is to be looked at, not read about. Both are the Lady Hufflepuff's forte, and while her talent in art is still to this day unsurpassable, her frivolous outdoor activities were absolutely horrid for a lady of her position. I care not for hunting or amazing feats of bravery, as those were Lord Gryffindor's pleasures. I do believe I already mentioned the basilisk, didn't I? The history books you bring into my library must be thoroughly authenticated, there mustn't be any self-help guides of any nature, and fiction is only necessary in small portions. Do not bring me anything with '1000 Ways' in the title, nor any books on core school curriculum. I'm not daft. Also, don't bother with anything regarding Divination of any kind, as it is a talent that simply cannot be learned. Such things are for those actually possessing the Sight."

The Lady Ravenclaw paused, running out of fingers to count things on. "Are you following me so far, Granger?"

"Um, yes," Hermione said haltingly, a little overwhelmed. "Yes, Lady Ravenclaw, I believe I understand."

"Maybe I should be writing this down," the lady mused aloud, as if she hadn't even heard the girl. Muffled sounds coming from behind the bookcase derailed her from her train of thought.

----------

They met up on the ground floor and attempted to look inconspicuous as the large group of seven made their after-curfew excursion to Marquise's suite. Unbeknownst to Harry, Draco, Heero, and Wufei made sure to arrange that no prefect stray into their path, as the areas they were traveling through were supposed to be the places they were to patrol that night. They only had to worry about the faculty, and the only two that roamed the halls after hours were Professor Snape and Argus Filch. Otherwise, the rest of the faculty left the necessary duty up to the prefects.

"Where are Granger and the Weasel?" Draco asked as soon as the entrance of Marquise's suite was sealed behind them, almost gleeful as he searched out his prey and his prey's bookworm girlfriend.

Harry smothered a grin. "They already went in."

"Went in where?" Quatre asked, effortlessly adopting an innocent posture.

Before Harry could reply, Hermione's head peered into the portrait frame, blinking at Quatre owlishly. She was soon followed by the rest of her body, as well as Ron's and the Lady Ravenclaw. "You didn't tell them?"

Harry glanced uncertainly at the door of the Preventer's office when it opened a crack, wondering if it was right of them to welcome themselves in without so much as a knock of courtesy. However, Wufei was the only one to come out of the office, and he made sure to close the door behind him. It seemed like the man chose to hole himself up in his office without so much as a by-your-leave, so maybe he didn't care to be involved.

"Things like this shouldn't be spoken of where others can hear," Trowa said simply, walking closer to the painting.

"Apparently," Wufei said somewhat standoffishly, "this is Ravenclaw's Library. We've been given a missive from the Heir of Slytherin to help them look for something to bring about the downfall of the Dark Lord Voldemort."

"Yes!" Duo exclaimed, punching his fist in the air excitedly.

Wufei smirked. "I knew you would like that, Maxwell."

"Well, yeah!" Duo said, as if it were obvious. "No one nabs Duo Maxwell and expects to go on living. I've been wanting a piece of this action since day one."

"Hilde contained you once, and she's still breathing," Heero pointed out logically, allowing a small smirk to break his composure when his American boyfriend crossed his arms and squared his shoulders defensively.

"Hilde is different. I converted her to our side." He shrugged passively. "Besides, she's a goddess in the kitchen, and I would hate to deprive the world of her delicious baked desserts."

Ravenclaw cleared her throat pointedly. "I do believe you are digressing from the task at hand."

"She's right," Quatre said, joining Trowa and looking determinedly at the portrait. His eyes weren't for the Lady Ravenclaw; instead, he matched gazes with Hermione.

"Tell us everything."

_**END CHAPTER SIXTEEN**_

* * *

**(1) 'Zanne was a bit befuddled by the word "ganked," so I figured I'd explain it in case confusion is widespread. It's slang -my supervisor says it all the time when I "gank" her DS. :grins unrepentantly: If the word had a definition, I think it would be something like, "to steal; to take something for one's own."**

**One hour after posting: Gaaah! Stupid, stupid, stupid. :_punches herself in the head repeatedly_: I forgot to give props. KD EbonyKitty came up with Trowa V. The Whomping Willow. I just did her genius bidding. :_grins_:**


	17. The Secret's Out Revelations

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many of you are probably thinking the same thing.**

"**About **_**damn**_** time!"**

**In fact, I **_**know**_** that is exactly what many of you are thinking. I know because I thought the same thing myself. It's a tediously long story, so I'll just sum it all up: The bastard was caught, extradited, and is awaiting trial. Not quite the end of all of my troubles, but it's a damn good start. (And no, the event of which I'm referring to is nothing that would, say, crush my soul and shatter my fragile world. Just something that really pisses me off and causes my family financial turmoil.)**

**Unfortunately, up until I heard the good news, I was emotionally exhausted and mentally devastated. During this, I tried to write. I made an honest-to-God effort, but I hated every word I typed, it took hours to do so much as a paragraph before I would give up, and I was completely uninspired. Stresses like these, I find, are not conductive towards the writing process. Pile depression, self-loathing, and moping on top of all that crap, and Cappy just hasn't been a happy larker at all.**

**However, I've had my head surgically removed from my ass since then. Depression is a wasted effort when finding something to smile about makes me feel better; self-loathing just sucks all around, and there are plenty of other things I'd rather be doing in place of moping. Granted, staring at my toenails for an undetermined amount of time isn't the best way to spend my time, either, but at least it sort of entertains me.**

**So enough with my petulant puling. Let's not spoil the happiness that is Lady Lurker finally poking out of her hole and updating.**

**WOOT! An update! Mwahahahahahahahahahahahahah... :**_**throws confetti about left and right**__**hands readers party favors**_**: YAY!**

**Has anyone seen my beta? I think I've lost her... :goes around pinning "LOST" posters to every hard surface:**

**Enjoy the chapter! (Please be kind and review. My shattered ego needs reinforcement.)**

**Onward!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Seventeen**_

* * *

****

By the time all nine of them had sifted through the entrance of the library, Ravenclaw had been putting the finishing touches on her redecoration of the room. The comfortable, eclectic furniture grouped in the center of the room were transformed into cushioned chairs, while the forlorn table had been moved and extended to comfort ten. The Lady Ravenclaw, of course, placed herself firmly at the very head of the table in order to keenly preside as a silent observer. Quatre sat on the Lady's left; Hermione, on her right. Trowa seated himself directly on Quatre's right, and from there was Duo and Heero. Wufei took the seat across the length of the table from Ravenclaw, followed by Draco on his right, Harry next, and Ron rounding off next to Hermione.

They couldn't exactly be called a 'Trio' anymore; that description had become obsolete the moment Draco barreled into their meetings like a catastrophic typhoon barreled into a defenseless village. By now, their numbers had grown so that their group could be classified as an actual council. A council of what, Hermione wasn't quite certain -she suspected the teachers would find an apt term, but doubted it would be particularly favorable. 'Trouble-makers' immediately came to mind. Several less flattering terms followed after that.

Duo, despite his friends' rather unaffected dispositions, was almost vibrating in his chair from eagerness alone. Wufei must have been completely serious when he said that the American would be ecstatic over being brought into the fold; for when Duo spoke, his words came out excitedly hurried. "So? So? What's the what? We're going to make Moldy Shorts dead, right?"

"Hopefully," Harry muttered, somewhat tiredly. Duo may have been eager, but the Boy Who Lived just wanted to end it all.

Duo snickered. "Harry, with us on board, there will be no 'hopefully' about it." He held up two fingers. "There is success or failure. Hee-chan, what do we think about failure?"

"Failure is not an option," Heero said flatly.

"Precisely," Duo chirped, beaming at his boyfriend before he turned back to Harry. "So spill. How do we make Moldy Shorts dead?"

Hermione couldn't stop the grin that was teasing the corners of her mouth; the enthusiasm was certainly refreshing, and she had no doubt in her mind that the five new members would provide a fresh, more militaristic viewpoint towards accomplishing their goals. She was still reserved about the highly suspect terrorism that haunted their pasts, but their willingness to throw their lots in with Harry paired with those same past experiences would only prove to be an asset.

Harry pulled a folded sheet of yellowed parchment from the inner pocket of his robes. He removed his wand as well, unfolding the parchment so he could place the tip at the very center of what appeared to be a blank bit of parchment. With a soft murmur of Latin, black ink bled onto the front. Removing his wand, he handed the parchment to Duo.

Without even looking at the words, Duo handed the parchment to Trowa, who then passed it off to Quatre. The blond studied it for a moment, eyebrows raised.

"It's written in Olde English," he noted absently, decisively considering the odd spelling and the even stranger letter shapes. Finally, satisfied, he began reading out loud,

"_The eve is when the veil Between is thin,  
__and the spirits of before roam the earthly ground.  
__Death's Devourers, restless and wicked of their own merit,  
__prowl the earth in search of fear and blood and death.  
__Two children, little less than two summers gone,  
__and both cursed by the hands of the Fates.  
__One escapes Destiny, but suffers a far greater loss.  
__One is marked by Destiny, thus begins his treacherous journey.  
__For when Death's Magic comes for the child,  
__Death is blinded to the child, and he is refused._

"_The Disinherited Snake, defeated by what he did not possess,  
__flees Death's Embrace and retreats to the unknown.  
__Many winters pass, and the magic world plunges into peace.  
__Homage is paid to those lost, and praise to the child hero.  
__He Who Death Refused is ten and one summers and loved by all,  
__save by the wicked, the influential, and his earthly bonds.  
__He is welcomed back to the world of magic for learning,  
__but with his coming is the dark resurrection.  
__Thwarted once, twice; then, with the hand of the Betrayer,  
__The Disinherited rises, again the enemy of the earth._

"_The world of magic refuse to hear, to see, to believe.  
__The Enlightened are gathered and despair the ignorance.  
__The only defense remaining is that which sways to no influence  
__Built to unite all within, to protect Her and Her sovereignty.  
__Within Her, a chamber, a library, a hall, a room;  
__By grace of Her, secrets, knowledge, legacies, and a weapon.  
__The Snake's secrets will lead to absolute truth,  
__the Raven's knowledge contains the Pactum Quinque,  
__the Badger's treasured legacies will brighten the path,  
__and the Lion's hammer will deliver swift justice. _

_**The Oracle**_."

Underneath the signature of profession was the same strange symbol of a snake eating its own tail, circling around a Celtic cross entwined with vines. Then, added as if an afterthought, were two short sentences.

"_Four by blood, Heirs to Hogwarts.  
__One by Fate, touched by Destiny."_

"We think," Hermione began, stopping at Ron's wry snort. Scowling slightly at him, she continued evenly, "Well, _I_ think the last two lines refer to the Pactum Quinque, which translates into Covenant of Five. Draco theorized that the covenant is actually a blood ritual of some sort, since most of the participants are heirs."

Quatre handed the prophecy back to her thoughtfully. "And the rest? Do you know what it means?"

Hermione grinned, eager to introduce a fresh mind to her research. "Well, 'the veil Between' is Halloween, when the realm of the dead bleeds into the living world," she said. "It's also the night the Dark Lord went after the Potters," Hermione added, her cheerful disposition dampening a little as she ventured a quick glance to her friend. When Harry only became thoughtful at the mention of that night, Hermione went on, "Death's Devourers is a bit obvious, but I didn't really understand the mention of a second child that 'escapes Destiny.' That's when Harry told me that Trelawney's prophecy applied to Neville, too."

Draco, having been unaware of this detail, looked properly scandalized. "You mean we were _this close_ to having _Longbottom_, of all people, parade about on the mantel of the Boy Who Lived?" He shuddered violently, visibly unsettled by the mere idea.

Harry grinned reluctantly. Teasingly, he said, "You know, Dray, that sounds an awful lot like Ron's reaction when I mentioned it. Except Ron said, and I quote," he added, adopting a terrified expression, "'Neville Longbottom, Boy Who Lived? We would have been _doomed_.'"

"I don't know why everyone insists on thinking he would have been utterly useless as a boy hero," Hermione grumbled testily, shooting her two friends a glare. "Well, I understand why _Draco_ would assume that since he's a vile little prat on his better days-"

Draco preened. The following months he'd been accepted into their ranks (albeit reluctantly in regards to two-thirds of the Trio) had been pockmarked by Hermione's casually delivered insults toward his character. He was starting to take pride in just how often the buck-toothed beaver would take the time to malign his character. The more furious the delivery, the better he felt about getting her into that state.

"-but we can't be sure how anything would have turned out if Neville had been the Boy Who Lived," Hermione ended in exasperation. Ending the subject there, she immediately dived into the next part of the prophecy.

"Most of the prophecy is pretty self-explanatory," Hermione pointed out primly. "I think 'the Disinherited Snake' refers to the Dark Lord somehow, though the phrase is a bit unusual." Pausing, she turned to Ravenclaw and asked curiously, "Did Slytherin know one of his descendants was part of the prophecy, Lady Ravenclaw?"

"Yes," said Ravenclaw. "Young Sal followed by saying that no murderer was an heir to him. Even so, he pitied this Dark Lord more than he reviled him. Not even Lady Hufflepuff could encourage him to explain why that would be so."

"I don't get it," Wufei said with a frown. "From what I understand, Slytherin detested muggles and muggleborns. Why would he disapprove of Voldemort's activities?"

Ravenclaw's eyes narrowed dangerously before darting in Wufei's direction. There was fire in her dark eyes, as well as icy indignation. "I beg your pardon?" she murmured softly, her tone low and hinting at suppressed rage.

Duo shared a secretive glance at Quatre before mentally giving Wufei a thumb's up for a job well done. Wufei, despite the honest sincerity expressed on his face and by his posture, must have carefully planted that interesting little tidbit about Slytherin's infamy over hating muggles and muggleborns into the conversation on purpose. What better way to find out more about the Founders than to underhandedly interrogate a source that was personally involved?

"According to historians, Slytherin wanted to refuse muggleborns admittance to Hogwarts in the beginning," Wufei explained, raising his eyebrow at the Founder's memory. "Are you implying that this is incorrect?"

Ravenclaw's anger faded behind thoughtful wonder. Slowly, she relaxed her tense shoulders and shook her head with a dainty sigh of resignation. "In the beginning... yes. Salazar wished to keep those born of the earth from attending our school. To be completely honest, I agreed with him."

Duo sat forward in his seat quickly, intrigued. "Is that so?"

"What?" Hermione blurted, sounding hurt. "But why-"

Ravenclaw cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "Oh, spare me those eyes of despair, young Granger! I assure you, neither I nor Salazar wished to keep those of earthly bonds from learning our ways for anything as petty as bigotry. Our reason -and, apparently, my involvement in the dispute -has obviously been forgotten by time.

"It was because of Salazar that the argument did not end at a stalemate," Ravenclaw added, somewhat wryly. "Lady Hufflepuff claimed it was unfair to educated those who's parents were of our world and refuse others, and Lord Gryffindor typically laughed in the face of reason. He claimed that those of the earth needed to know bravery, so what better way than to embrace enlightenment?" She sniffed haughtily. "Salazar relented because his senses were not only governed by his mind, like me, but by his heart, as well."

She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and the expression on her face was one of remembrance, empathic pain so fresh that it showed by the faint worry lines that crinkled the corner of her eyes and across her forehead. "He was heartbroken when the first four children of the earth we invited were killed for consorting with evil in accordance to the religious beliefs of the outside world."

A somber silence was broken when Duo said, "That's right... There were numerous witch hunts in your era, right?"

Hermione frowned. "I thought no real witch or wizard suffered because of the Freezing Charm. The flames would only cause a tickling sensation."

"Children wouldn't have that defense, Hermione," Quatre said quietly.

"Not to mention the Freezing Charm had been invented for just that reason," Ravenclaw pointed out in slight irritation, visibly upset about the misrepresentation of what the earliest of the witch hunts were like. "A lot of spells were created during those dark times that hid us sufficiently from the earth. Spells to evade notice, charms to hide our homes; we found a way to travel through fire in order to avoid risking an encounter with one of the earth. Where we once were allowed to mingle with those of the earth, we were then forced to hide ourselves from them." She looked at Hermione pointedly. "The Freezing Charm took years to develop, Granger, made even longer for word of it to spread to every witch and wizard."

"Why didn't you just use owls?" Ron blurted, wincing when Hermione sent him a sharp glance.

Ravenclaw, however, was excited to explain in a sort of cheerful, hushed whisper, "Actually, we have the Green Mages to thank for that clever little feat -they made a bonding pact with the owls on behalf of all our kind, especially after the use of cats became... well, rather well known."

_Green Mages_? Wufei mouthed to Quatre, intrigued.

While the blond, too, was just as interested in hearing the very beginnings of modern wizarding society, they were farther from the point of the meeting. Smiling apologetically at Ravenclaw, he abruptly pulled Hermione from her bubbling questions to focus on the prophecy.

"I'm assuming the Child Who Death Refused is Harry," Quatre prodded with certainty. "The wicked are perhaps Death Eaters or those who affiliate with them; the influential might be politicians, which is very likely considering how the wizarding world looks up to Harry as a hero. As for earthly bonds... If I'm guessing correctly from what Lady Ravenclaw has mentioned in passing, I believe it may have something to do with... muggles." That, and the Oracle had already explained the unfamiliar terminology to them. The Gryffindor Trio hadn't had that pleasure.

"Well, maybe," Hermione murmured speculatively. "I couldn't for the life of me figure out what 'earthly bonds' could mean, nor why it wouldn't like..." She stopped suddenly, her frown deepening in realization. "It doesn't mean just any sort of muggles. 'Earthly bonds' is another expression for muggle _family_." With an irate huff, she muttered quietly, "Should have guessed. A description like that is probably what spawned 'mudblood.'"

"It helps that mudblood is a really catchy word," Draco said with an impish smirk, only to grunt when Harry roughly elbowed his boyfriend in the ribs.

"Anyway," Harry said loudly, just in time to cut off Hermione's no-doubt scathing retort, "The rest of that part is about me going off to Hogwarts, and how many times I faced Voldemort until my fourth year." His face darkening, he added tightly, "The Betrayer is Wormtail. The last line is very literal -Pettigrew cut off his own hand to complete Voldemort's resurrection."

When Harry appeared as if he was going to stew over his own dark thoughts, Duo decided to lighten the mood. With a maniacal tilt to his smile, he said soothingly, "We'll make him dead again soon enough. And, hell," he chuckled as if laughing at a private joke, "_someone _was good enough to leave us a recipe!"

"An unusually detailed recipe," Wufei muttered, giving Hermione a flat look. "I'm not exactly an expert on prophecies, but I've been led to believe that the majority of prophecies do not guide the beneficiaries to victory. Tell me I'm not the only one who noticed this."

"I had two theories about that," Hermione said evenly, holding up one finger. "One -the difference between a Seer and an Oracle is the clarity and frequency of true visions." She held up a second finger. "Two -the entire prophecy was an elaborate goose chase set up by the Dark Lord, with the obvious favoritism towards Harry added to throw us off. Seeing as the library in the prophecy really does exist, it may very well be the former."

Yet, something still plagued Hermione; something tickling at the back of her thoughts. It struck her sudden enough to startle a gasp out of her. Her back straightened in her chair, her light brown eyes wide and staring in front of her, where Quatre was frowning at her in concern.

"You already knew," she murmured softly, stunned.

_Shit_! Duo screamed in his head, immediately blurting, "Er, say again?" She knew! How did she know? They hadn't given _any_ indication that they had any knowledge about the prophecy! His brain rushed to find a reasonable explanation, but before he could open his mouth to say anything, Hermione immediately turned her head to Ravenclaw.

"You already knew about the prophecy!" Hermione said eagerly. "So... So most of it is a true prophecy, but the last part... the last part is _self-fulfilling_!"

Duo was struck by the sudden need to have a lay down. With a silent heaving sigh, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. That had been a close call; Hermione's realization had nearly given him a heart attack. After flickering a quick glance towards his friends, he realized that they were just as relieved to find out that Hermione wasn't addressing them. What was more, he nearly blew everything by jumping to conclusions.

_Then again,_ a bitter part of him whispered, _I wouldn't have to worry about giving anything away if I weren't so damn secretive in the first place_. Skulking around doing a good bit of the dirty work himself had taken a lot out of him, both physically and mentally. He had hoped forcing their two groups to work together would help everyone involved. However, the first cooperative effort left him feeling emptier than before.

The Gryffindor Trio was getting shafted -and Duo was the one doing the shafting. A small part of him was okay with that, but the fair majority felt lower than pond scum. It was time to let the cat out of the bag.

"I really need to tell you guys something before this goes any further," he was going to say. However, he didn't manage as far as the second word before Ravenclaw's words cut him off.

"Of course," she said. "Clever girl, Granger; but here is a quandary." She smiled and leaned a little towards Hermione. "'A chamber, a library, a hall, and a room. Secrets, knowledge, legacies, and a weapon.' The words of the prophecy are not obscure on this matter, Granger. A chamber involving secrets?" she implored knowingly. "There is only one of those within these walls."

"Well, yes," Hermione admitted a little hesitantly. "To be honest, after hearing what was found down there in our second year, we were all a little wary to make a second trip." The endeavor had been put off by Ron, who claimed that there could be hundreds of curses and traps down there, all set to trigger when a muggleborn stumbled upon them. Harry hadn't found that likely, but the three of them -with a surprisingly adamant agreement from Draco -had decided to err on the side of caution.

The woman tilted her head thoughtfully. Then she smiled ironically and shook her head. "So you found it so soon. I was concerned that such a task would have taken too long." With a small laugh, she added knowingly, "Many secrets lay within his chamber, young Granger. Perhaps a visit would enlighten you."

She slanted a quick, speculative glance towards Duo before deliberately making eye contact with the rest of those sitting around the table, as if expecting everyone to agree with her. Duo knew the suggestion for what it was; the Lady of the Portrait most likely had enough pieces of the puzzle to realize there was an entirely different part of the adventure about which three of the Gryffindors were clueless. Now that the Gundam pilots had underhandedly forced a merger, it was time to lay down his hand.

He was a little miffed that Ravenclaw had assumed he hadn't already come to that conclusion himself, but still... Duo smirked briefly. _Perfect_.

"Let's go tomorrow night," Duo volunteered, his smirk transforming into a beaming smile. "The Chamber of Secrets is supposed to lead us to absolute truth, right? So let's get our facts straight." He ignored the surprised looks of which he was on the receiving end. Heero frowned thoughtfully, Trowa didn't look affected at all, Quatre lowered his chin slightly in silent understanding, Wufei stared at Duo with an almost smug air of satisfaction, and Draco gawked at him as if he thought the braided-boy had lost his mind.

Lady Ravenclaw even gave him an oddly startled expression that eventually became a reluctant smile of approval. Duo mentally blew the woman a raspberry as he internally gloated over getting a leg up on her. He only did anything on his own terms, as he hadn't given anyone permission to make decisions in regards to his life.

"That's not a bad idea," Quatre said, smiling at Hermione. "You will never know what's in the chamber if we don't look, and the Chamber of Secrets is mentioned in the prophecy."

Hermione was reluctant; Duo had a feeling it was more to do with leaving Ravenclaw's Library for a night than any actual reservation about going to Slytherin's Chamber. He was proven correct when she asked, "But what about the ritual?"

Lady Ravenclaw hummed before she lifted her hand with her palm facing up. Almost instantly, a book slapped safely into her palm, having come from one of the higher shelves. With a satisfied smirk, the Lady handed the leather bound book out to Hermione, who accepted it with trembling hands.

"I expect to see Potter and the Heirs here on a frequent basis," she informed them. "It will take time to memorize the details of the ritual, all of which are explained in that book. Depending on how receptive the participants are, learning how to execute the ritual will take several months."

"Months?" Ron groaned, aghast.

"Either you make the necessary sacrifices," Ravenclaw nearly snapped, "or you kill everyone in this school with your ineptitude. This is a _blood ritual_, Gryffindor. Such things are not to be taken lightly."

Duo was a bit more flippant in his response. He lazily raised his hand, grinning at Lady Ravenclaw as he quipped, "Will there be a test on the material?"

Though he meant the comment as a joke, he was stunned to find that Ravenclaw appeared to contemplate it as a suggestion. "That is a rather brilliant idea," Ravenclaw said speculatively, drawing a blank stare from the American.

"Duo!" Ron wailed, horrified. Classes were bad enough -and learning a blood ritual wasn't even something he could use on his academic record, considering that such things were outlawed by the Ministry _ages_ ago. They'd be sentenced to time in Azkaban if word of what they were doing actually slipped out.

"Hush, Ron," Hermione said, smiling. Ron shot her a sour look; of course, she would be _thrilled_ about it, seeing as Hermione Granger was enthusiastic in learning _period_. Never mind that the material they would be learning could be classified as Dark Magic. "It really is a good idea, even if Duo didn't mean it. Draco has already pointed out that blood rituals are to be followed to the letter, and Lady Ravenclaw said much of the same. It's imperative that you and Harry take this more seriously than you do classes."

"It's not like _he_ has to do it," Ron muttered sullenly, looking dejected.

"Yeah, actually, I do," Duo replied in a matter-of-fact manner. His serious gaze bled into a cheesy grin as he held up a victory sign proudly. "But no worries -we'll all suffer the consequences of my fat mouth together."

It took a while for Duo's words to sink in. Ron's jaw dropped open, boggling over why the American would voluntarily learn a blood ritual that, to his knowledge, the braided boy had nothing to do with. At first Harry was equally confused, until his eyes widened slightly behind his glasses as he stared at Duo in wonder. Hermione's mind raced to connect the dots until, finally, she gasped and stared at Duo incredulously.

Everyone else's expression were quite different, of course. Quatre was visibly relieved that he didn't have to maneuver around topics he wasn't supposed to know about and still remain helpful. Trowa nodded approvingly, satisfied that his friend had finally overcome his reluctance. Wufei, finally understanding why Duo would suggest visiting the Chamber of Secrets knowing that the Oracle was lurking down there, settled into a rather relaxed posture (relaxed for Wufei, at least, since he still sat with a straight back). Heero silently reached for Duo's hand under the table, twining their fingers together as a gesture of comfort.

Draco was the only one who actually verbalized his reaction. "It's about bloody time, you secretive pillock."

Immediately after the words left the blond's mouth, Hermione blurted, "Oh my God, it's so obvious now!" She pointed at Duo, though not in an accusing way. "You aren't a victim of circumstance! That day in February, in Hogsmeade -the Death Eaters didn't just overlook Harry in favor of Draco. You were taken, too! At first I thought it was because the Death Eaters wanted revenge for what you did to their companions, but... They wanted _both_ of you, didn't they?"

"Yeah," Duo said without a hint of hesitation. "They did."

"Wait," Ron interrupted, holding out his hands to stave the conversation. "Wait, wait, wait. You," he pointed to Hermione, "are trying to tell us that he...?" His sentence trailed off as he wordlessly pointed at Duo, unable to put what Hermione was implying into words.

"Yep," Duo said nonchalantly, nodding. "That's exactly what she's trying to tell you. Hard to swallow, huh?" He snickered darkly. "Personally, the thought of Snake Face making it with _anyone_ makes me want to vomit. I mean, who would _want_ to?" He shuddered, repulsed by the idea. He could only hope his mother had been heavily influenced by alcohol at the time.

Draco cringed at the American's imagery, disgusted that Duo would even go that far to make a sick joke. Still, he found himself marveling at how Duo was controlling the conversation. By making light of the matter, Duo was putting the initial reservation someone would normally feel when a friend announced that they were the son of the Dark Lord himself at ease. On top of that, the American _still_ avoided having to say outright that he was Voldemort's son.

"That's disgusting, Duo," Harry muttered, looking equally ill by the thought. "No one was thinking that until you mentioned it."

"Feel my pain," Duo quipped dryly, smiling at Harry. Voldemort's Number One on the list of People To Kill Before World Domination was taking the news a lot better than the American could have hoped. Well, at least Harry wasn't trying to throw anything at him.

"So it was you who sent me that letter," Hermione said, narrowing her eyes on Duo. "Would I be wrong in assuming you four knew about Duo all along?" This time, she was addressing mainly Quatre, with the other three included for good measure.

Quatre smiled with a little regret; but not very much, and he certainly wasn't apologizing for their actions.

"Quid pro quo, Granger," Wufei said evenly. "We told you about the library in our own way, and you told us about the prophecy. Now we're letting you in on the rest of it."

"Which is why we'll be going to the Chamber of Secrets tomorrow," Trowa added. "It's only fair that you officially meet Orie."

"Orie?" Hermione repeated. "How is he involved in-?" Cutting her words short, she quickly glared at Draco. "You already _knew_?"

"Hey," Duo protested before Draco could open his mouth and say something that would be vaguely (or even openly) insulting. "Don't blame Draco for not saying anything, 'Mione. I made him swear a Wizard's Oath long before this Heir stuff came about. As far as I know for sure, until the first of September, the only people who knew were me, Voldie, Draco, Heero, and Sirius. And Dumbledore, only he knew all along. Bastard," he tacked on as an afterthought, still smoldering over his personal discontent with the Headmaster. "Lucius, too, if he was paying attention. I doubt it; he looked like he was going to pass out from relief when Draco didn't get his soul snogged out of him."

"Don't be vulgar," Draco snapped, fiercely kicking Duo's shin under the table. The American jumped, wincing in pain as he untangled his fingers from Heero's grip to nurse the throbbing hurt. He smiled in an earnestly apologetic manner at Draco, who was only marginally mollified.

"I didn't even tell the others until I got a mystery letter from the Oracle," Duo added, looking at Harry. "Honestly, I probably would have taken that secret to the grave with me if this prophecy business hadn't popped up." He rolled his eyes peevishly, making a face. "It was bad enough that Sirius was in on it. I know Draco and Heero can keep a secret, but your godfather wasn't under any sort of obligation to do the same. Then we met the Oracle, and he tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I was going to have to eventually confess."

Silence.

"The Oracle?" Hermione dazed inquiry was almost an inaudible whisper. "You mean... _Orie_!"

Duo grinned. "Yeah. Orie the Oracle -named him myself."

"Because he won't tell us his real name," Draco added bitterly. Harry turned his head slightly to look at the blond speculatively. He remembered thinking it was strange that the Slytherin Prince was always cynical about both the Oracle and the prophecy. Apparently, his boyfriend was the only one that felt suspicious of the man; either that, or the others were hiding their own dislike very well.

"Sirius never said anything about what happened," Harry mused out loud. "In fact, he never even brought that evening up. I'd almost forgotten he had gone with you." The fact still rankled his nerves a bit. Duo was a good friend to him, and he had wanted to help. Even so, he hadn't held it against the parties involved.

"He was there when I was telling Moldy Shorts to go to hell," Duo said with a wry smirk. "He decided not to tell anyone of his own violation. He said something about how he understood what it felt like to be judged by the same standards as one's twisted family." Not that the reason for Sirius' vow of silence matter much to him, at the time. He was content in the fact that he would never have to publically acknowledge Voldemort as anything more than an enemy.

"That is precisely why this will never be discussed outside of Ravenclaw's Library and the Chamber of Secrets," Draco pointed out with a stern glare that was directed at Ron. The redhead bristled angrily. "No matter how much people like Duo now, that admiration is like a candle in a hurricane compared to the truth behind his heritage. Society would be in an uproar, and even Dumbledore's vote wouldn't stop the Ministry from exiling Duo from the wizarding world."

_Gee_, Duo thought, hiding a wince. _Way to hit it home, dragon boy_. Knowing the wizarding world for a habit of lumping everyone by family standings as he had heard, he realized that Draco wasn't exaggerating about the widespread panic and upheaval that would occur if the son of the Dark Lord was found mingling amongst the best and the brightest of the next generation. It didn't help that he was charismatic and had most of the student body charmed out of their socks, nor would it settle well with the wizarding world that he had become a close friend of the Boy Hero. They would be screaming for his blood before the ink dried on the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

Still, no matter how bluntly Draco outlined the possible reality, he was grateful that the blond was apparently looking out for him. It was actually sort of... touching.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Draco demanded curtly, just shy of glaring at Duo's sappy smile.

"No reason," Duo volleyed off with a chuckle of amusement. Though he was touched, he wasn't going to call the Slytherin Prince on his act of kindness. Draco would probably become flustered and mutter something that equated to Duo being an idiot. However, he did intend to thank Draco for his painfully blunt interjection about the importance of keeping his heritage secret the next time they were alone.

"It's passed curfew now," Quatre announced. "We should probably head back to our dorms and get some sleep if we're going to the chamber tomorrow night."

"You three," Ravenclaw interjected, pointing at Harry, Ron, and Duo, "will be here first thing Saturday morning."

"But we have Quidditch practice," Ron protested, somewhat meekly. The Founder flinched, obviously annoyed by the mention of a sport she found detestable.

"Then you will be here after twilight," she gritted through her teeth. "You shall also be coming back here after _practice_." The last word was spat out like a curse. To Ravenclaw, Quidditch probably was a curse. Even Duo quailed at the acidic hiss in her words.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed quickly. Ron didn't think it was wise to complain that they had Astronomy early Saturday morning from midnight until two in the morning; the woman might have insisted they come right after their class.

_Note to self: Self, never mention Quidditch in front of Rowena Ravenclaw. End note_.

It was going to be a long year.

----------

They met Thursday morning with jaw cracking yawns and an abundance of caffeinated beverages of which included the likes of coffee, tea and, in Heero's case, an energy drink. By the time breakfast was over and they were shuffling off to their first class of the day, Harry couldn't rightfully claim that he was ready to face the day. He suspected he would get by either way.

Transfiguration was the first class, and all of them would be attending. The nine of them cloistered themselves near the very back of the room, to Hermione's chagrin. Instead, she chose to seat herself (and Ron by proxy) at the table in front of the others. This put her near Pansy and Blaise; on the other side of the Slytherins sat Mandy and Susan Bones. Hermione thought that perhaps if the two Slytherins could ignore her, she could very easily return the favor.

Everyone's energy renewed when McGonagall launched into her lecture, especially when she revealed what they would be going over for the next few days. She passed out personality charts and directed them to a large section of their Transfiguration textbooks that was dedicated to Animagi.

"You'll use the personality charts to determine what sort of animal you have the potential of being," she announced. "You will be using the second set of charts to determine the exact species. I don't expect many of you will have an easy time of this, so your homework assignment will be to complete your charts to the best of your ability. For now, I want you to spend the rest of your class time working on this project."

Eagerly, everyone started on their assignments. No words were spoken to mask the sound of quill meeting parchment. It wasn't until halfway into the class that Harry finally sat up straight, putting his quill down on the table as he curled his spine, grunting as several faint pops followed.

"Okay, I think I've got it narrowed down to two possible species," Harry said slowly, tilting his head as he carefully considered his chart. If he was going to be any animal, he would be something that flew. Hopefully a breed of bird that was stronger than, say, a sparrow. He was also tentatively leaning towards something long-legged and furry; not necessarily a stag like his father, but more like a horse or something similar. "That's a good start, right?" He glanced at Trowa from the corner of his eye, waiting for some response. Trowa casually turned the page of his textbook, his eyes never straying from the text as he absently lifted his chart for Harry to glean over.

The Gryffindor boggled. "You have _thirteen _suspected species?"

Draco let out a low whistle, smirking as he wryly quipped, "_So_ much worse than my five suspected species."

"Is ferret on that list?" Ron asked, feigning innocence.

"So sorry to disappoint," Draco replied sneeringly, "but no, it's not." And he would be utterly devastated if it did show up on his list. He had intentionally stayed out of the 'rodent' section of _Secrets of the Animagi._ "You, on the other hand, might as well put weasel and be done with it," Draco added snidely.

"_Trowa_ is having trouble finding his animal?" Duo murmured in shocked wonder, his eyes trailing back to his own Animagi chart and his detailed book about animals. "Cause I keep thinking 'big freaking cat' for some reason..."

Quatre apparently overheard Duo's random comment, blinking at his own chart and glancing over at the American in surprise. "Really? I always thought he'd be a wolf."

"Nah, that's so Heero," Duo said, throwing a grin at his boyfriend, who was already thoroughly scanning the lupine section of the book. "Trowa's a fuzzy kitty with really sharp teeth and claws."

"Maybe," Quatre murmured, strongly considering it. "He does like cats... What do you think Wufei would be?"

Duo turned and looked around Heero, catching the attention of the aforementioned Chinese Ravenclaw. Wufei glanced up from his book, scowling darkly when he saw that Duo was giving him a complete once-over in a very clinical manner.

"Panda bear?" he suggested helpfully. The Chinese boy flushed indignantly when Heero snorted in amusement as he calmly wrote something in neat, precise handwriting on his chart.

"Shut up, Maxwell," Wufei snarled stonily, shooting the American a look that strongly resembled some of Heero's fear-inducing death glares. Duo, having obviously developed a strong tolerance to such common occurrences, merely smiled cheekily in response.

"You don't really think it has something do to with culture, do you?" Quatre blurted, stricken with horror. He groaned, planting his face in his hands as he moaned, "But I don't _want_ to be a camel!"

"I think you'd make a cute camel," Trowa said simply, turning his attention from what he was reading for a quite moment to glance reassuringly at his boyfriend.

"And they spit," Duo quipped, whipping his head around to grin impishly at Quatre. "A lot. It's actually more like hocking a loogie."

"I can't be a camel!" Quatre wailed piteously, almost loud enough to earn a stern reprimand from McGonagall if she hadn't been so occupied with Justin, who was looking up at the woman in helpless confusion.

"Stop helping, Duo," Heero said, pointedly tapping on Duo's half-finished chart. Unrepentantly grinning, the American obediently went back to his Animagus chart and set to work.

"Yeah, right," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "If Quatre's anything, he's a desert hawk." The Winner heir was entirely too refined for something as filthy as a dumb camel. "Duo's just jealous that he's going to be something small that requires a shell and lives in the ocean; more typically found cooked and served with some kind of sauce."

Duo's head turned up from his book, eyes gleaming dreamily. "Really? I want to be a crab. They walk sideways."

Everyone within hearing distance paused in their searching to turn and stare at Duo; even the students seated in front of their table twisted in their chairs to give the boy incredulous looks.

"Is that the only reason you want to be a crab?" Pansy finally asked, unable to keep her disbelief hidden.

With a silly grin, Duo quipped, "Doesn't matter, as long as I think it's cool." Besides, he wasn't going to be a crab, or any sort of crustacean. His choices were narrowed down to a spider monkey and a black panther. _Mmm, tricky devil or happy killer... What to choose, what to choose?_

By the end of the class, the quandary was sadly left for homework.

After Transfiguration was a rather uneventful Charms class, which wasn't to say it was completely boring inasmuch as it was relatively unremarkable compared to the usual chaos. Neville, in reviewing the Summoning Charm, accidently summoned a book right into the side of Dean's head. It would have hit Wufei, but the Chinese Ravenclaw ducked fast enough to avoid that potentially embarrassing scenario.

"Aw, well," Duo sighed, feigning disappointment as he comfortingly patted the sorrowfully apologetic Gryffindor on the back. "You'll get him next time."

Wufei's spine went rigid as he corrected his posture, his black gaze swiveling to drill into the side of Duo's head. Neville squeaked meekly, slumping in his seat and mumbling vaguely, "I didn't mean to..."

"I know," Duo replied cheerfully, beaming. "But you have to admit that it would have been pretty funny to see Waffles get beamed in the head with a book."

If Wufei were capable of shooting lasers from his eyes, Duo would have been classified as 'extra crispy.'

After lunch came separate classes. Trowa, who had a free period, sacrificed his time to help Zechs teach Muggle Defense to third years from Slytherin and Ravenclaw. The rest of them attended classes -for Heero, Duo, Hermione, and Wufei, there were Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. For Quatre and Ron was Herbology and, after Trowa's tutoring session, Care of Magical Creatures. The afternoon passed by rather quickly since their classes either required a lot of attention or were more hands on than others.

They attended dinner that evening at their respective House tables, spending their meals in the company of housemates rather than each other. Quatre thought it would be best for them to separate and foster good relations with the same people they shared room and board with, if only to prevent any ill feelings for their outer-house preferences.

Wufei really couldn't have cared less about maintaining any sort of bond with most of those in Ravenclaw House. So far, Mandy was the only one he found tolerably decent and fairly intelligent. There was only one thing Mandy did that rankled Wufei's nerves.

The girl lived to encourage _her_. Luna Lovegood, Ravenclaw House's social equivalent to leprosy. Mandy insisted that Lovegood's otherworldly charm was a refreshing change from the bunch of stuffed shirts she was forced to endure day in and day out. Wufei had been left wondering how someone as sharp as Mandy could confuse an unhinged dissociative personality with "_otherworldly charm_."

Today, Mandy slid a tin box along the table, bumping it against Lovegood's elbow. Then she leaned away, planting her elbows on the table while supporting her head with her palms. She was watching Lovegood attentively, radiating avid interest.

At first, Lovegood did nothing to acknowledge the worn, colorfully adorned tin box, her attention focused solely on the raspberry pastry in her hands. Once that was gone and her fingers sucked clean of sugary icing, the younger Ravenclaw blindly reached over and picked the tin box up, using her other hand to push her empty plate away so she could place the box in front of her.

She pried the lid from the tin, absently placing it to the side as she peered at the objects within. There were dozens of brightly colored pins, all sporting a strange saying or cartoonish picture. Long, thin fingers reached inside and lifted on of the pins to eye level. Wufei managed to catch a glimpse of the words printed on the striped pin.

_Comfort the disturbed.  
__Disturb the comfortable._

His eyebrow ticked dangerously before he shot Mandy a sharp glance. The girl ignored him in favor of watching Lovegood. The eccentric Ravenclaw hummed absently before -click -she casually popped the semi-circle of wire that made up the pin from the back.

Mandy grinned triumphantly. Wufei was almost certain that his yearmate gave things to Lovegood just to see what the younger girl would do with them. Mandy was almost never disappointed, either.

The Lovegood girl made quick work of the pins, tossing the wires onto her plate as she placed the buttons in four neat rows at her right. After she was finished, she brought what appeared to be a spool of fishing wire from the folds of her robes, as well as a sharp needle that had been inserted in the fabric of her folded collar. She threaded the fishing line through the eye of the needle before carefully selecting one of the buttons.

Wufei frowned, wondering what Lovegood was intending to do. He was surprised when she managed to push the needle through the top of the button from the front with ease, pulling the fishing line-cum-thread through with it. She repeated the process through the back of the button, this time at the bottom. With this accomplished, she carefully selected a second button, this one sporting the words _Jesus is coming. Look busy. _Lovegood then repeated the same process.

While Wufei was puzzling over what Luna Lovegood was doing, Quatre was having an enjoyable conversation with a number of his own yearmates. He, Susan, and Justin were laughing at Hannah, who was pinching her lips together with her fingers, pulling the skin out as she crossed her eyes. Her efforts made her look uncannily like a mentally deficient platypus, which had apparently been her goal.

She let go of her lips and uncrossed her eyes, grinning at her laughing friends. "Hah! Try to top that. I dare you."

"I don't think any of us can," Justin managed between bouts of laughter, holding his head in his hands.

Tentatively, Susan said slowly, "I think I might be able to..." Then, with a sheepish sort of smile, she warned, "But it's kind of gross. My aunt would murder me if she knew I was doing it in public. Or at all, for that matter."

"Mums the word. Go for it," Justin responded encouragingly, leaning forward. He didn't even think girls _were_ capable of doing anything disgusting, but he had been proven wrong before.

Quatre, on the other hand, knew differently. With twenty-nine sisters, all of which had their own strange little quirks, women were just as capable of lewd behavior as men. The fairer sex just hid it better.

With another embarrassed smile, she stuck her tongue out. Quatre was startled to find that it was rather long, and he had a nasty suspicion as to where it was going. Sure enough, Susan lifted her tongue up and stuck the tip directly into her left nostril.

Justin nearly fell out of his chair from laughter. Susan quickly retracted her tongue, ducking her head sheepishly as she rubbed the back of her head.

Quatre chuckled quietly. If Susan ever did that in front of Duo, no power on this earth could calm down the hyper American.

"I can see where your aunt Amelia would disapprove," Hannah said, also laughing. "For the Head of the DMLE, she's really prim and proper, isn't she?"

Quatre started before mentally berating himself. He'd completely forgotten that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and his housemate shared the same last name. It was only logical that, in a society as close-knit as the magical world, Susan and Madam Bones would be related in some way. "Wufei told me about Madam Bones. He was really impressed by her," Quatre thought to mention, smiling at Susan.

The girl straightened her shoulders with a certain amount of pride, grinning slightly. "That's awesome because Wufei and Heero made a really good impression on Aunt Amelia. I think she wants to offer them an internship into the Auror program, or even draft them for the Unspeakable Division."

Quatre was surprised by that admission. While his two friends had known the risks of making names for themselves amongst the Wizengamot, none of them had expected to garner that kind of attention from the Head of the DMLE. Still, the reality made sense.

Finally, he shook his head and told Susan, "You may want to tell your aunt that, before she makes any solid decisions, she will want to confer with Lady Anne Une of the Preventers." He smiled ironically. "After all, Lady Une has committed to enlisting them for her Preventers after they graduate."

Quatre was included for recruitment, but he had already decided he was going to politely decline her offer. That wasn't to say he would not involve himself in his friends' lives if they chose that particular path, but Quatre had different goals altogether. He would help his friends where he was needed, but ever since he was introduced into this world of magic, he was itching to dip his fingers into the wizarding world's highly corrupt political system. He considered it broken, but not beyond repair.

Quatre was a man who fought with words. He had his fill of bloodshed; after the war against Voldemort was over, if the situation arose, he would plunge himself into the role of a soldier again. Even so, he had always fought his battles differently. Going into politics -wizarding politics, especially -seemed like a happy medium.

"Lady Une?" Justin repeated thoughtfully. "Isn't that the woman who came to Hogwarts with the Vice Foreign Minister and Agent Marquise last year?" His voice lowering slightly, he murmured, "My da said Lady Une used to be General Khushrenada's right hand woman. Marquise was too, though he defected and went on a peace stint to the colonies before joining that other group -the White Fang."

Quatre tilted his head slightly. Justin, being muggleborn, was more likely to have a keen perspective of the war if he had been interested in those events. Still, that much in depth knowledge about the OZ hierarchy suggested that the Hufflepuff may have had family that served in the army at some point. "Is your father in the military, Justin?"

"He's a military analyst, actually," the boy amended.

"What's a White Fang?" Hannah asked innocently, looking between the two muggleborn boys curiously.

"It's really difficult to explain," Justin murmured hesitantly. "It involves a lot of muggle politics... anyway, there were something like three sides to the war. White Fang tried to drop one of the colonies on Earth, I think. They were going to settle for a piece of their ship before that Gundam stopped it. You remember that, right?"

"Oh... yeah, I do," Hannah mumbled. "The Ministry said there wasn't anything to worry about, though."

Someone made a rude noise; three sets of astonished eyes turned to Quatre, who calmly placed his glass of pumpkin juice onto the table. The blond looked unguardedly annoyed for a moment before he forced a polite smile on his face.

"I would not suggest that you place a lot of faith in the Ministry when it comes to muggle affairs," he explained vaguely, "or anything else, at the rate the political climate is going." Quatre, finished with his meal and noting that several members of Gryffindor House had already retreated from the Great Hall, stood from his seat and excused himself from the table. "I'm late for our study group, but I should be back a little after curfew. I'll see you guys later."

"Have fun," Susan said in bemusement. Quatre nodded with a smile before making a beeline towards the Ravenclaw table. He stopped behind Wufei, noting that the Chinese youth was shaking his head at a girl Quatre absently recognized as Luna Lovegood. She was donning what appeared to be makeshift jewelry -a row of long earrings consisting of five circular objects, hooked through each ear, as well as two bracelets on each wrist. Luna seemed pleased with her accomplishments.

"Most people would just pin them to their satchels," Wufei muttered.

"Luna isn't 'most people'," Mandy said smugly, looking somewhat pleased with herself, as well. To Luna, she said, "You're welcome."

Luna returned the words with a simple, if not dreamily vague smile.

Chuckling slightly, Quatre volunteered his own thoughts on the matter. "You have to admit, Wufei, that is rather creative."

Wufei craned his neck to look up at the blond behind him. Women, he'd already decided with firm resolve, were not worth the headache. With that oath to live by echoing around the dark corners of his mind, Wufei quickly excused himself from his housemates' company and fled the Great Hall at a brisk pace. Quatre followed him, amusement radiating from the set of his shoulders as he jogged after his friend.

A minute later, Draco, Heero, and Trowa dismissed themselves from the Great Hall, as well. They caught up with Quatre and Wufei just outside of Moaning Myrtle's favorite haunt and, after checking the corridor for possible strays, they skulked into the lavatory.

As soon as they were in, Duo turned and grinned at them before giving Myrtle a thumbs up. Giggling shyly, she disappeared -supposedly to keep watch over the corridor outside and to spurn any who would be desperate enough to visit her lavatory.

In the beginning, Duo thought a girl's bathroom was a strange meeting place for a group in which the members contained a Y chromosome. Adding a girl into the mix just made the experience that much weirder... but only if he thought about it too hard.

In the end, he made it a point not to dwell over it too much.

"The floor is yours," Duo said graciously, beaming at Harry. With a hesitant nod, the black-haired Gryffindor found the faucet with snake marked fixture and moved closer to it.

"Open," Harry murmured quietly, stepping back as the entrance to the chamber opened. Duo flickered a quick glance to the other Gryffindor's back, frowning slightly.

"It sounds just like English to me," he mentioned casually. Was there a reason for that? Usually, Duo was pretty good about differentiating between the many languages he knew, some of which were passably polite; others of which he only knew how to insult the unfortunate recipient's heritage. Parseltongue wasn't something he heard often, and it was almost guaranteed that he would fail a few times before he would actually slip into the snake's language.

Harry started, turning his neck to meet Duo's eyes. He grinned suddenly. "It was like that for me, too. You can usually tell the difference by listening for the hissing sound underneath the words. In fact," he added, eyes glittering in amusement, "when you hear the snake tongue, a snake speaker will automatically feel compelled to verbalize in kind."

"That is so creepy," Ron murmured, shuttering, his face pale enough to accentuate his freckles.

"Eh?" Duo grunted, blinking at Ron.

"You two," the redhead explained, waving his hand in Duo and Harry's general direction. "Just gabbing along in Parseltongue."

The American looked a little dumbfounded for a moment before he recovered, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. Harry was just explaining to me that Parselmouths tend to slip into Parseltongue when they hear it."

Personally, Draco thought it was... hot. Hearing Harry hiss like that made his spine tingle, forcing him to add Parseltongue to his list of Things Harry Does That Turned Him On. He snorted, shaking his head. That same list was growing way out of hand...

Ron, thinking that Draco was making fun of him, bristled and snapped, "What?"

Draco sneered at the redhead. "Nothing." Like hell he was going to admit to the Weasel that he'd been going over his naughty list for the nth time that month.

"Hn," Heero grunted, not at all eager to witness another Weasley/Malfoy spat play out. Without preamble, he stalked forward and descended down the dark, steep tunnel while leaving the others behind. He was confident that they would take the hint and follow him.

"And that, my friends," Duo announced simply, "is Heero Yuy's way of telling us to get the lead out." He saluted the group before leaping into the pit of darkness, his exuberant yell of, "BONZAI!" echoing down the tunnel.

----------

Centuries ago, when the Oracle would turn his eyes to the great beast Azraiel, he foresaw a great deal of potential for the future. It was not that he thought she would be a grand creature to tame, like the Lord Gryffindor; nor did he think the basilisk would be a tool to be utilized in keeping wayward students in line, like the Lady Hufflepuff (though the sentiment was made with great reluctance on the Lady's part). When the Oracle cast his gaze to Azraiel, the first thing he saw was a plethora of wealth. Her scales and fangs, for example, were prime for wand-making. Her blood and venom would work miracles in the most complex potions and elixirs, and her eyes, while only marginally less dangerous out of her skull than within, were desirable for the possession of one who was true of heart.

The Oracle was a practical man. There were occasions that he allowed his heart to guide him; in the case of Azraiel, such was not the occasion for matters involving the heart. Basilisks were rare and hard to come by, so when he had found what remained of her carcass with the rest of her rotted away, he could not help but to feel a little disappointed.

It was when he surveyed the state of Azraiel's remains that he realized his opportunity had not been wasted. There had still been marrow in her bones; with marrow, regeneration of flesh would be child's play, if not a little tedious. The Oracle made her carcass his project by weaving the old magic, which took a day to complete. Renewing her life would have been impossible if he had been inclined to do so, but her body was his to make anew.

Once his self-appointed task was completed, he stood back to critique the results of his hard work. Her venom was lost to him, dried long ago. Her eyes, as well, were a lost cause; wounds inflicted pre-mortem could not be helped. It was perhaps best that way, as he did not have the tools or the gumption to harvest such dangerous rarities without petrifying himself. The scales and her blood, on the other hand, were his to do with as he wished. That much would suffice him.

It was then he went to work prying her scales away from her body before using his athame to carve into the soft meat underneath, all the while using a large ceramic bowl to collect the blood that spilled from her body. It was in the third hour of this daunting task that he heard a sound from the entrance of the cavern. Though his view was blocked by the body of the basilisk, there were few that had the ability or the knowledge to enter Slytherin's Chamber.

He was not disappointed when a familiar drawl broke the silence. "Wow. Orie's been busy. The mural is coming out of the tunnel now," Duo pointed out. The Oracle nodded thoughtfully, though remained silent as he replaced the blood-filled bowl with an empty one. It was true that he had a lot of time on his hands, confined to the chambers. Completing the flittering firefly mural extending into the cave of his relics was just one of his many projects.

Then Duo laughed and said playfully, "We really need to get him a social life."

The Oracle considered this idea for a moment before neatly discarding the notion. He could understand objects. Objects served the purposes for which they were created. People, on the other hand, were fickle and somewhat difficult to understand, as the same standards for one man rarely applied to another. Such was the gift of free will.

Duo's comment was followed by a rather high-pitched squawk that came from an unidentifiable source. "Cripes, Harry, I thought you _killed_ it!"

Harry? The Oracle absent-mindedly swept a lock of ruby red hair from his face, unknowingly smearing blood along his left cheek and forehead. Was it that time already? Though the Oracle had been gifted with a Sight that was nearly omniscient, he had learned at an early age that it was also difficult for one of his caliber to decipher events in an orderly fashion. His visions came to him in snippets that were out of sequence and left him deaf to sound while within the grasp of the Sight.

A lesser known drawback was his own understanding of time. In other words, there were occasions when a Tuesday would feel eerily like a Thursday to him.

"Relax, Ron," Trowa said calmly. "The basilisk must be dead, or it would be moving by now."

"Even though it still appears to be a bit... gooey," Quatre agreed hesitantly.

On a whim driven by his subconscious inner-sadist, the Oracle 'bumped' against the long body of the beast, his lips twitching in amusement when the one named Ron shrieked meekly for a second time.

"_It moved_!" the boy wailed pitifully.

"Orie," Duo called out, his tone colored with good humor. "Stop teasing Ron. He has a weak constitution when it involves deadly monsters."

Called out from hiding, the Oracle lifted himself from his kneeling position, purposefully ignoring the blood and gore that stained his pale green robes before he added to the filth by wiping his hands along his sleeves. He walked around the corpse of the basilisk to face his visitors, schooling his facial features into an expression of detached serenity.

There was the girl, Hermione Granger, whom he met in the library. She stood to the side, appearing slightly awkward in the dank surroundings of the main chamber. Almost hiding behind her was an ashen-faced redhead with freckles that stood out starkly against his blanched skin; he would have succeeded in hiding if he did not tower over the girl by almost a head. And there, standing close to Draco was a boy with dark messy hair and impossibly bright green eyes that had haunted the Oracle's dreams as early as childhood.

Before enlightenment, the young Oracle had been content to know this boy merely as the cupboard boy. It wasn't until he was but seven summers that he began knowing the one called Harry by a different name.

"I regret causing you discomfort," the Oracle murmured, his lingering gaze leaving the Child Death Refused to land on the tall redhead. "I do require assistance in harvesting what is left of Azraiel. In my time, just one of her scales would bring a wizard riches beyond measure. I shall allow you to keep whatever you can harvest for yourself as atonement."

"Go for it, Weasel," Draco drawled, smirking. "One basilisk scale is worth more than your entire family." The redhead's face flushed with color as he shot an acidic glare in the young blond Slytherin's direction.

"You regenerated that thing," Wufei inquired flatly, as if the Asian youth could hardly believe his assumption, "just so you could hack it to pieces again?"

The Oracle smiled serenely. "Basilisks serve better uses dead and dismembered than alive and whole."

"Hear, hear," Harry muttered in agreement.

In the end, only Ron, Heero, and Trowa would come close enough to the corpse to help pry away its scales while the Oracle cleanly sliced the meat. Duo contented himself with taking its blood, casting a spell over the oozing liquid every time it began congealing in order to refresh it. The others stood apart from them, still watching in interest except for Hermione. Her nose wrinkled in distaste before she turned away just enough to ignore what the boys were doing.

"So the Oracle is the secret we were supposed to find down here?" Harry asked. "And how did he get here, anyway?"

Quatre and Trowa exchanged glances. "He calls himself a Time Lord," Quatre explained slowly. "There's a room inside that stone effigy where the basilisk used to nest. Duo's blood triggered a..." For a moment, the blond appeared at a loss before he looked to the Oracle for an accurate explanation.

"Time fold," the Oracle supplied dutifully, his voice slightly rough as he threw a large section of meat behind him. The clean cut pound of flesh landed wetly on top of the pile he had harvested so far. "In essence, Duo unknowingly activated a prepared ritual that brought me safely from one point in time to another."

Hermione looked at the Oracle, eyes wide in awe. In all her years of learning magic, she had never once heard so much as a rumor of such a fantastical sort of ability. Then again, creating alternate realities within portraits and reversing decomposition to such an extent as to make it whole again... both were concepts that were completely beyond her. Yet, seeing these things done, and executed so craftily! She was itching to get back to Ravenclaw's Library to learn of what else lay hidden beyond the scope of her imagination.

"How do you intend to get back?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

The Oracle paused, glancing at the young Gryffindor girl with a touch of sincere sadness in his ruby eyes. Without speaking, he turned back to his task and speared his athame cleanly into the remaining flesh, careful to cut around the beast's still heart.

Duo looked to the ruby-haired man with a frown. Going by his silence and the mournful look in his eyes, it didn't take a genius to figure out that the Oracle's little venture to the future was a one way trip. "... Damn, Orie. That must really suck."

"The past is as it should be," the Oracle said quietly. "The present is now, and what we make of it will shape a better future." The man paused for a moment before murmuring, "It was my sacrifice to have, Duo."

"Maybe, but I don't think it would have been one I could have made," Duo pointed out logically, his eyes trailing to the head of the corpse they were enthusiastically dissecting. He shuddered lightly; the basilisk had been frightening when it had just been a skull. Now that it was a bit meatier and had skin, Duo could only imagine how scared he would have been if the thing had actually been alive.

"Harry, I can't believe you faced off against this thing without pissing your pants," Duo lamented, shaking his head despondently. "You were, what, twelve? If I were in your shoes at that age, I honestly think I would have soiled myself." To hell with maintaining his dignity. Basilisks, he decided firmly, were freakishly scary.

"I was too busy staying alive to note the state of my bladder at the time," Harry replied dryly, "but I wouldn't be surprised if pants wetting had been on my list."

Draco shot his nonchalant boyfriend a queasy glance before he scowled at Hermione, as if to say, 'Now you see why this idiot needs a keeper?' In response, the girl shrugged delicately and nodded in silent agreement.

"Duo found Ravenclaw's Library, by the way," Trowa thought to mention. "We'll be looking for Hufflepuff's Hall soon."

"Which you conveniently neglected to mention," Duo added dryly, his pointed stare degrees shy from exasperation.

The man had to grace to appear at least slightly apologetic, though he was not at all flustered. Orie, obviously having a comeback prepared in advance, easily replied, "That is a reasonable allegation. However, you would have known, Duo, had you taken the initiative and approached those with my written prophecy without delay."

Duo winced at the subtle jibe.

"Point to the Oracle," Wufei said, smirking.

Oracle: 1. Duo: 0.

_**END CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**_

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**I am only PARTLY satisfied with this chapter. :**_**shakes head sadly**_**: These past few months just haven't been good for writing, I'm afraid... :**_**sighs**_

**Hoped it was satisfactory, in any case...**


	18. Murphy's Little Speedbump

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: I SUCK. There's no other excuse. :**_**sigh**_**: I had a lot of trouble with a certain scene, and even now I'm seriously contemplating over whether I should just cut it out and move on. I'm leaving it in because it was a bitch to write, and I would suck even more if I spent so much agonizing over the scene without anything to show for it. (Besides, I think it turned out waaaay better than I expected it to...) I will tell you this, though: There are REASONS I keep the romance sparse in my fics. I swear I'm this shy of being haphephobic and couldn't see the appeal of sharing skin surface for the life of me...**

**Weeellllll... mostly. :**_**grins sheepishly**_**: I get that it's hot. I'm just weird about things like that.**

**Sorry for the ridiculously long wait. I'll also apologize in advanced if this is a poor chapter in comparison with past updates, though the last half is something I'm actually proud of for once... **

**To lovely beta-mine, through whom all things are possible. Zanne deserves hugs. Lotsa hugs. And candy. Good luck on your exam, Zanne!**

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to review!**

**Onward!**

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Eighteen**_

* * *

Since the discovery of Ravenclaw's Library only two weeks ago, almost every spare moment of their precious time was spent hiding away absorbing every intricate detail about the blood ritual, which was looking a lot more troublesome as the days passed. In truth, Draco and Hermione didn't need to be present for Ravenclaw's lessons. Like Wufei, Hermione diverted her attention amongst the Founder's numerous volumes. Draco just wanted to make a nuisance of himself and spend time with his boyfriend at the same time. Unfortunately, Ravenclaw's threatening stare often forced him to bury his face in a book, as well. 

While Wufei, too, enjoyed the literary boon, he usually removed one of the books from the library and dared to take it outside of the painting -but never any further than Marquise's suite. The Founder had made the student of her Originator's House swear an oath that the book never left her sphere of influence; also, he was not permitted to remove another text unless he brought the first one back.

Marquise had several nasty things to say about Ravenclaw referring to _his_ suite as her "sphere of influence," but most of his dark words were muttered behind the safety of his closed office door.

Even though Ravenclaw spoiled Draco's fun, he was never found wanting for entertainment, which usually came in the form of Duo. The first hour and a half into the lesson, the American would be completely content. He was attentive and asked many fairly intelligent questions. Just as hour three would slowly creep upon the study group, however, Duo's posture would undergo a drastic change. He would slump in his chair, fidget with everything from the tail end of his braid to his wand, and his eyes would jump spastically around the room while never fully focusing on anything at all.

Three hours trapped in his chair and Duo would visibly vibrate in his seat, fingers twitching uncontrollably in a silent plea for action. Duo Maxwell, Draco found, was not meant to be confined one in place for long periods of time. There were probably a number of very good reasons as to why this was so, but the blond Slytherin didn't dwell upon the possibilities. The point was that Duo was suffering, and Draco derived much pleasure from his hyper friend's predicament.

Heero rarely sat in on the ritual lessons; when he did, Duo managed to remain relatively chipper through the entire lesson. Draco suspected that would have been possible only if the American spent the last half of the lecture attempting to engage Heero in a game of footsie underneath the table. Judging by the mischievous leer teasing the corners of Duo's mouth on such occasions, that was likely the case.

When Heero wasn't providing Duo an outlet for distraction, he was spending his evening aiding Trowa and Quatre with the search for the highly elusive Hall of Legacies. So far, their three-man search party was having absolutely rotten luck with finding anything remotely close to what the riddle implied. They even inspected the Quidditch pitch, believing the riddle to be rather obvious. From what Draco was to understand, they scoured every inch of pitch only to leave during the early twilight hours, disappointed and with nothing to show for their efforts. The rest of their attention was solely focused on Hogwarts itself -though they were having shoddy luck on that angle, as well.

All of their schedules were packed with a flurry of attending classes, eating, Quidditch practices, homework, and catching what little sleep any of them could; on top of it all, almost every other night was dedicated to Ravenclaw's Library or searching for the Hufflepuff's Hall. It was exceedingly rare for all of them to be seen together, though Heero surmised that this was perhaps in their favor. The Japanese boy explained his reasoning one day while he, Draco, and Trowa had sequestered themselves in their dormitory to complete the day's homework.

"There are eyes and ears all over this school," Heero said monotonously, neatly rolling his Potions essay and placing it to the side so he could lay a clean sheet of parchment before him in preparation for his Charms assignment. "Anything we say or do in public that can be construed as war preparations is sure to reach the attention of the enemy."

Trowa nodded evenly. "It's best to let them think we're too busy with individual interests than to gather together openly and risk undue suspicion."

It was annoyingly sound logic and prevented Draco from spending as much time with Harry as he would have liked, but as a Slytherin, he could understand the necessity of it. Ergo -his reason for always crashing Harry's ritual lessons.

If there were two things Draco -or any one of them, for that matter -had to be grateful for, one would be mealtime, in which the only taxing things he had to do was bring the food to his mouth, deflect Duo's frequent ribbing, and/or cautiously weave around Slytherin House's intricate social trappings. It was on a Thursday evening surrounded by his house mates that he found himself attending to the latter in a way that left him cursing as he brewed a headache potion in his head. What was worse was that Trowa and Heero were not present, choosing to dine with their respective boyfriends instead.

"I heard," Pansy said with coyly lowered lashes, a simpering smile tilting her lips, "that one of the sixth year girls is trying to find a recipe for a love potion. I wonder what she plans to do with it?"

There. An opening for anyone to join in with their own theories. It was a fun game to those of the house and was largely responsible for a great many rumors that would eventually spread. This was especially so for the other three houses, since a Slytherin telling tales about fellow Slytherins was considered treasonous.

"It was that sleaze Mackenzie in Ravenclaw, wasn't it?" Daphne Greengrass said immediately, a dour scowl twisting her pretty face. "She's going to use it on Marquise!" Before anyone had a chance to ask her how she surmised that, she threw her napkin on her plate with an irritated sniff. "That bint beat me to it."

Draco frowned. "Please tell me 'love potion' was your plan B."

"Plan E, Draco," Daphne said with a frown at him. "Give me some credit." Stooping so low as to consider a love potions a viable option wasn't up to par with their standards, unless it was something like a last resort. Love potions were useless imitations of the real thing and almost always ended in tragedy -anybody with two brain cells to rub together knew that much.

"I can't believe you're even thinking about it at all," Theodore lamented with a roll of his eyes. "He's a muggle, Daphne. Where's your dignity?"

"You couldn't find it with a map and a wand," the girl said with a vicious smirk thrown in Nott's direction.

Draco almost choked on his pumpkin juice, immediately picking up on the intended innuendo. He placed the glass solidly on the table before he glanced at Blaise with one eyebrow arched inquiringly. In response, his friend hummed in what sounded like an affirmative manner as he scanned the pages of the Evening Prophet. So Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass had a brief fling. He didn't really need Blaise's confirmation to verify his suspicion, though it did help. Nott's red-faced indignation was telling enough.

"You–" Theodore growled before Pansy coolly cut him off.

"Now, now, children. None of that at the table," the blonde girl murmured indulgently. "Daphne is right, by the way. It is Mackenzie and, so far, Marquise is the likely target."

"She just may poison the poor sod," Draco said, grinning slightly. "That should prove entertaining." He didn't hate the man, but Draco didn't really bother talking to him unless it was related to class in some way. He certainly wasn't familiar enough with the muggle to disrupt some Ravenclaw's stupid plot.

"Hmm," Blaise hummed thoughtfully, the newspaper crinkling as he peeled the front page back to purview the other side. "Speaking of Marquise, I heard from a very reliable source that a number of students have been spotted going into and leaving his suite all hours of the night."

_Damn_. Draco felt something in his gut wrench at that, though he managed to school his expression before anyone noticed his guilty reaction. He hoped that Blaise didn't know exactly who was involved in that little student/teacher faux pas, but when his dark-skinned friend turned his gaze away from his paper long enough to smirk at the Slytherin Prince, he knew his hope was in vain.

Grin widening slightly, he murmured innocently, "I wonder what they're up to?"

_Damn, damn, damn_, Draco thought peevishly, outwardly smirking back at Blaise before he calmly reached for a pastry. He knew the only reason Blaise brought the subject up was because Heero and Trowa were absent, and Blaise would think it was safe to probe for an answer without those two around to glare threateningly at him if they felt he was out of line. He bit into the pastry, barely tasting it as he still projected an aura of indifference. Blaise wouldn't be impatient enough to call him out until he heard what the blond's reply would be; and Draco definitely had to reply.

"Sounds perversely devious," Pansy agreed speculatively, "I haven't heard anything about that. Care to name your source, Blaise?"

That was a good question. They had been careful to the point of absolute paranoia when visiting Marquise's suite, going so far as to use Harry's Marauder's Map to help them along. How in the world had they been spotted? More importantly, whose loose lips did Draco have to thank for this spectacularly horrid development?

"And ruin a perfectly untapped informant?" Blaise scoffed, obviously not in the mood to share his trade secret with everyone listening. "Bite your tongue, Pans."

"You should do something about it," Nott insisted. "Tell a teacher or something. No one can get away with shagging students -especially since he's a muggle."

As usual, someone with a one track mind jumped to the wrong conclusion. _Not good_. Luckily, Draco mental scrambling yielded results. The only thing left to do was to mentally cross his fingers and spread his line of BS evenly.

With this in mind, Draco snorted derisively, adopting a bored expression as he studied his cuticles. "It's nothing so sordid, Theo. Trowa, Heero, and the others go to Marquise's suite to discuss what they'll be doing in class. You can't expect them to work with the muggle if they don't know what's going on." Finally, the coup de grace. "I've even gone with them a few times. It's incredibly _boring_." He sighed and rolled his eyes for added effect, hoping that would be enough to stave further inquiries into the subject.

Blaise narrowed his eyes suspiciously, gauging the authenticity of Draco's explanation. The blond smirked smugly at his friend as if silently declaring checkmate, hoping his friend would buy his lie... or at least go along with it until they were somewhere a bit more private.

"Well, that's no fun at all," Pansy said, pouting. Usually such news wouldn't stop her from spreading a few rumors for the sake of observational entertainment, but Slytherins were involved.

Draco sighed in barely contained relief. Crisis averted... for now.

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Blaise covertly press the tip of his wand to the top of the front page of his newspaper before he casually offered it to the blond. "You might be interested in this evening's front page news," Blaise said offhandedly, smirking. "Seems the news didn't make the deadline for the morning edition. I suspect there will be a reprint tomorrow."

Bemused, Draco accepted the newspaper, eyes immediately drawn to the very top of the page. In glowing letters on the top margin, Blaise had written _You aren't off the hook yet, Draco Black_. The words soon faded as if they had never been there to begin with. It figured that someone as tenacious as Blaise would not let the subject die just yet; not until he had all of his questions sufficiently answered. Blaise Zabini was blessed with an infinite amount of patience and enough intelligence to plan his subtle word traps out in advance.

After reading Blaise's message, Draco glanced at him, annoyed. He quickly turned his attention back to the paper to actually read the article in case his friend tried to question him about it after he had given the paper back.

**SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE**, screamed the headline boldly, and Draco's eyebrows nearly shot up into his hairline. He quickly scoured the rest of the article, and even turned to the third page when the paper prompted him to.

Rufus Scrimgeour. Draco vaguely recognized the name. He was a pureblood man, head of the Auror Department before becoming Minister -and wasn't _that_ sudden? He hadn't even known an election had been going on. Aside from what was already written about the man in the article, Draco didn't know much about new Minister of Magic. The man didn't run in the same circles as the Malfoys.

He'd apparently had a meeting with Dumbledore, as well, though Draco couldn't recall ever seeing the man's worn face or his lionlike mane of hair at any time since the beginning of the school year.

"Bit sudden," Draco said with a pondering frown. He gave the newspaper back to Blaise absently, attention completely focused on the news. "I didn't even know there was an election."

"Fastest campaign I've heard of to date," Blaise agreed with a nod. "I met Scrimgeour once when my mother took me to a social function the Ministry was holding a year ago. He's a shrewd one." The dark-skinned seventh year leaned closer, whispering softly, "And I hear from sources that he has a vested interest in your boyfriend. In fact, your beau was the hot topic of discussion in that meeting with Dumbledore that the Prophet mentioned."

"Is that right?" Draco whispered back, eyes narrowing. He could hear Pansy stealing center stage, distracting the others from their private conversation. Apparently, Blaise had already told her about the development, and she was running interference so the others wouldn't try to eavesdrop. "Do you know why?"

"Scrimgeour wants to meet with Potter in private," Blaise responded. "Dumbledore declined allowing it while Potter is on Hogwarts grounds. Scrimgeour said he'd find a way around it. He obviously wants an audience with Potter that badly."

"I see," Draco murmured thoughtfully. The new Minister of Magic wanted to talk to Harry? Draco bristled at the thought, seeing as how no one from the Ministry had supported Harry for over two years. To top it all off, Dumbledore hadn't thought it prudent to warn Harry at all. "Thanks for telling me."

"You _owe_ me, Draco," Blaise reminded him staunchly, finally removing himself from Draco's personal space with a knowing stare. A Slytherin never did something for nothing, not even for the sake of friendship. What Blaise probably wanted more than anything else was the truth about what Draco and the others had been up to for the last month or two.

"Right," Draco muttered, nodding in agreement. He noticed movement on the other side of the room; it seemed Harry and the others were getting ready to leave, although Ron was intent on shoveling the last bit of his desert down his throat as hastily as possible. "I'll get back to you on that, Zabini." Draco stood, drawling lazily, "I have a study group to attend and patrol later, so I guess I'll see everyone in the morning."

When the other Slytherins dismissed him, he left the Great Hall and made a beeline towards the Gryffindor Tower. He stopped halfway there and settled himself against the wall of the corridor, waiting for the others to catch up with him.

There were a number of things he had to discuss with Harry.

He smirked to himself. Other things came first, though; he had his priorities, after all.

----------

"Whoa," Seamus Finnigan blurted, backpedaling out of reflex as he stared down at the four Gryffindor seventh years -and one seventh year Slytherin, which had become an unusually common sight in the last year or so -all of whom were slumped in varying states of dishevelment at the table. "You guys look like death warmed over."

It was an accurate assessment. Ron, always the one to perk up when food was in sight, had pushed his unused plate away from him so he could lay his head down and close his darkly circled eyes. Harry was yawning almost every minute with his elbow planted on the table, his cheek resting listlessly on his palm as he stared blearily at nothing in particular through half-hooded eyes. His other hand was half-heartedly tearing at a roll. Even Duo, who boasted frequently that he thrived best on minimal sleep and copious amounts of trouble, appeared a little dull and worn around the edges.

Heero, clearly much better at managing his time in the most efficient manner, methodically brought his fork to his mouth and did not so much as look up from his plate. Similarly, Hermione almost missed her mouth with her potato-laden fork due to her fascination with whatever passage she was reading from a musty old book. The only signs of her exhaustion were the telling circles under her eyes and her new constant companion -a magic self-filling thermos of strong, black coffee.

Harry thought, perhaps spitefully, that Hermione may have been injecting pure caffeine straight into her veins. So far, he had no proof.

"Thanks, Sea'," Duo said, lifting his head to give the Irishman a brittle smile. The American self-consciously petted his frazzled plait with a stifled yawn. "I think we kind of feel like zombies myself -but at least we _look_ warmed over."

"Not much of a consolation," Ron mumbled thickly around a tongue that did not intend to cooperate with him at the moment. "I think I've ricked something in my brain."

As Seamus welcomed himself to the empty seat beside Dean, the dark-skinned artist looked at his exhausted housemates in morbid fascination. "You look like you're about to go catatonic. Blimey, Hermione, what are you doing to these poor sods?"

Before Hermione could shoot back with an indignant retorted, Heero interceded bluntly, "They agreed to extra study sessions for material that isn't covered in the curriculum."

As one, Harry and Ron became aware enough to shoot the Japanese boy nasty glares. While Heero's explanation could be construed as one hundred percent truth, neither felt they had been left room to agree to anything of the sort. It was either make the appropriate sacrifices, or doom the world. They were only lucky that Hermione felt bad enough for them to offer a generous amount of help with homework so their academics didn't suffer.

"So you basically brought this upon yourselves," Dean surmised, deftly spearing a roasted chicken breast and bringing it to his plate.

"At least make Ron eat," Seamus fairly begged, poking the redhead with his index finger. After Ron sluggishly swatted the probing finger away, he lamented, "After six years of watching him stuff his belly to burst, seeing him waste away in front of me is too depressing."

Duo, taking the suggestion to heart, picked up a dish and attempted to entice the lackluster redhead with it. "Look, Ron -shepherd's pie. Mmm-mm-mmm!" He brought it under his nose and inhaled deeply, moaning lustfully. His eyelids fluttered, eyeballs rolling up into the back of his head as he groaned in an exuberant rush, "Ohmigoditsmellssogood!"

Unable to contain himself, Ron burst out laughing. He pulled himself into an upright position before he raised his arms high above his head, arching his back until several painful-sounding cracks issued. "Goofy git," the redhead admonished with a small chuckle. Nodding happily, Duo hummed as he took it upon himself to make use of the serving spoon and plopped a generous serving of the dish onto Ron's empty plate.

The American did not miss Harry's small grin of approval, nor was he blind to Hermione's beaming smile of gratitude. While Ron wasn't shoving the food into his mouth with as much enthusiasm as he normally would, he wasn't exactly wasting the time and effort to chew, either. His plate was empty in no time, and the redhead eagerly went back for seconds.

"That's much better," Seamus said, relieved.

When the dessert appeared, Heero silently handed his boyfriend a well-deserved oatmeal cookie that was piled with so much red icing and yellow sprinkles that Duo couldn't help but to get a healthy dollop of it on his nose as he bit into the tasty treat. Before Duo could do anything about it, Heero fixed the problem by swiping the dollop with his finger. He made certain that Duo was watching him when he put the icing-laden finger in his mouth and sucked it clean.

Duo's eyes glazed over, mind happily splashing in the dirty gutter from which it was born. Propriety be damned, if Heero didn't stop teasing him, they were going to find a dark corner and do very naughty things that would very likely mentally scar the kiddies for the rest of their lives. _And I'm supposed to be the hedonist in this relationship..._

The perversely delicious act was merely one of many that the two of them had been exchanging for the last two weeks. Duo was busy enough with Ravenclaw's lessons, class, homework, and Quidditch practice that it was hard to make time for Heero. Heero's own schedule was a mirror image of his own if one replaced Ravenclaw's lessons with searching for Hufflepuff's Hall. While class and homework had a tendency to coincide, both occurred in the presence of others. If homework, at least, was not attempted with a third party present, Duo could not guarantee theirs would ever got done in favor of more gratifying activities.

They left the Great Hall earlier than anyone else, with most of the student body still pouring over the last of the delicious sweets. Ron and Harry were dragging their feet tiredly as they made their way to the stairwell, and Hermione even dared a tiny yawn that testified to her exhaustion. Duo was glad that Ravenclaw allowed them a reprieve; sadly, he fully intended to catch some much needed shuteye instead of making with the merry with Heero. Somehow, he thought his three Gryffindor friends had the same goal in mind.

"If I don't get a break soon," Ron said with a sour grimace, "I'm gonna crack."

Duo sprinted ahead of the group and turned around so he could face them while walking backwards. He blindly reached out for the railing before taking the stairs; it wasn't a complicated feat for someone who had the agility of a cat combined with enough boredom to memorize how many stairs were behind him. "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, right? Let's beg off her lessons and make a break for it. I'm itching to do something that doesn't involve reading and writing."

"You're going to break your neck, Duo," Hermione chided him, walking up the stairs properly, like any sane person would. The American grinned cheekily in response.

"That's not a bad idea, actually," Harry mused out loud. "Going to Hogsmeade this weekend, I mean -not Duo breaking his neck."

"Glad for the clarification," Duo said dryly. "I was feeling a little unloved for a second there."

"You think she would go for it?" Ron asked hopefully.

"She's a taskmaster," Heero said matter-of-factly, "but she can't be oblivious enough to believe that you can keep it up at the pace you're going."

"Uh-huh," Duo agreed sardonically, though he thought that Ravenclaw would soon halt her lessons all together until the other Heirs were found. Yesterday, in fact, was a thorough review of what they'd already gone over, which led Duo to believe she was reluctant to go any further. There was no need to get so far ahead when they would all have to go back over the basics again.

When he reached the landing, he pivoted on his heels and slowed his pace so that he was walking on the other side of Ron. With an impish gleam in his amethyst eyes, he leaned over and murmured silkily, "In any case, it would be a perfect opportunity for a certain redhead to ask the bookworm we all know and adore on a d-a-t-e." He drew out the last word in a whispered song, unable to hold back his smirk when the blood underneath Ron's skin inflamed his freckled face up to the tips of his ears. Ron tried to swat at him, but Duo bounced out of reach with a wicked chuckle.

Having fallen back a few paces, Harry noticed the scene play out and raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry before he turned a glance to Heero. The Slytherin only rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's antics.

"Hey, dragon boy," Duo called out suddenly, drawing Harry's attention towards the front. He managed to catch a glimpse of Draco leaning against the wall, arms crossed and looking like he was bored out of his mind. Draco pushed himself away from the wall when Duo addressed him. "What's up?"

"What isn't?" Draco retorted laconically, stepping around Duo to face Harry directly. "Mind if I talk to you in private?"

Duo raised an eyebrow. "Wow. I feel so unwanted now."

"Right now? You pretty much are unwanted," Draco replied, throwing a smirk over his shoulder.

"You can say whatever it is you want to in front of us, too," Ron said grouchily, frowning.

"Who said I wanted to _say_ anything?" the blond said airily, not even sparing the redhead a glance as he latched onto Harry's wrist and dragged him in the opposite direction. Bemused, Harry didn't fight against it. He managed to look back just before Draco turned a corner. Ron's jaw had dropped open and Hermione's cheeks were a light pink. Duo was grinning from ear to ear, giving Harry two encouraging thumbs up while Heero didn't really seem to care at all.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked curiously, hurrying a step so he could walk by Draco's side instead of getting dragged around.

"That's a good question," Draco replied, eyes forward as he finally found what he'd been looking for. "I'll tell you in a minute." He opened the door and peered inside the unused classroom; finding it empty, he hurriedly waved Harry inside.

Harry hadn't made it three steps into the room before he heard the door close behind him, more than one locking spell and even a silencing spell rapidly falling from the blond's lips. Harry turned to give Draco a questioning glance. "So what's going on?"

Draco calmly slipped his wand into his sleeve and whirled around to face him, a small, playful grin on his face. "By the spirits, you are so blatantly naive, it's actually cute."

Harry narrowed his eyes, bristling. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth when Draco breached the small distance between them, hands reaching out to grasp Harry's hips just as petal-soft lips pressed against his mouth. A startled gasp of surprise broke the contact, but only long enough for Draco to take advantage of the opening by slipping his tongue inside to stroke against Harry's teeth.

Hazily, Harry mentally went over the last five minutes of his life as he tentatively returned the kiss, blushing when he realized that Draco had been openly hinting at his intentions since the beginning, and he was probably the only one that didn't catch on the moment the blond mysteriously parried with_ 'Who said I wanted to say anything?' _

_Right, Potter. You're a naive twat._ _Still_, he mused as he relaxed into the kiss, wrapping one arm around Draco's shoulder as he buried his other hand in his boyfriend's flaxen hair, _it's a really pleasant surprise_...

With a moan, Draco pulled away to draw air into his lungs and to give Harry a moment to do the same. "Spirits," he sighed quietly, pressing his forehead against Harry's. "I've been dying to do this for weeks."

"I couldn't tell," Harry murmured truthfully. Draco had not so much as mentioned his prize for finding the Heir of Gryffindor since the night of his and Hermione's argument, and Harry didn't feel comfortable bringing it up. It was embarrassing enough when Duo outed them in front of the entire Gryffindor House; having to remind his boyfriend of the stipulations behind their agreement when said boyfriend seemed to have completely forgotten about it was just too humiliating to bear.

"Slytherin principle," Draco mumbled, pressing his lips against the tip of Harry's nose. "Never reveal your eagerness, lest someone decides to take advantage of your preoccupation. Couldn't catch a moment alone with you when people weren't around."

Then, grinning wickedly, Draco stole another kiss, advancing suddenly. Harry stumbled back a step, then two, three more until his lower back thumped against the blunt edge of a wooden table. "Budge up," the blond murmured silkily against his lips. There were hands on his hips, lifting, urging Harry to perch on the edge of the table. The blond was only a few inches taller than Harry; now that the black-haired boy was sitting on the table, they were on an equal playing field.

Harry spared a moment to shifted into a more comfortable seated position with hardly a instant to catch his breath before Draco was leaning forward again, crushing his lips demandingly over his. The position was a little awkward because the blond had to lean over Harry's knees to get to his boyfriend, which was quickly rectified when he firmly pried them apart so he could fit himself snugly between the green-eyed boy's thighs and press their upper bodies against each other. Pale hands fly to the red and gold tie, loosening the knot enough to get to the neat row of buttons starting at the collar. He made short work of the first three before he finally stopped and parted from the wet kiss. Both of them were panting, Harry more heavily so; with an evil little smirk, Draco took the opportunity to lean in and sample the slim, tanned column of Harry's neck for himself.

A sharp intake of breath. A startled mewl as Draco enthusiastically swiped his tongue across the fluttering pulse. When Draco began lavishing the spot with wet kisses and suckling on the patch of skin, Harry emitted a darling little moan, his arms draping over Draco's shoulders as his head tilted to the side in a silent plea for more. The blond didn't deny him the pleasure and felt an intense satisfaction fill the lower part of his belly when he introduced teeth into the equation.

Harry didn't just moan when Draco nipped teasingly at the jumping pulse; the Gryffindor almost screamed behind tightly closed lips, hands clutching the back of Draco's robes into fists as he pulled the blond closer and even locked his legs around Draco's lower back to get the job done. "Goddamn! Draco..." An unrestrained exaltation, the needy whisper when his name was spoken, making the blond feel lightheaded as his blood flow decided to ground to a halt before rushing in the opposite direction. By the responding firmness pressing against his lower stomach, Draco wasn't the only one suffering the effects of their deliciously extemporaneous romp.

Draco moved on, showering just as much attention along the rest of Harry's exposed shoulder as his hands encircled the boy's slim waist, pulling and tugging at the shirt until he'd managed to free the hem from the black breeches, sneaking his fingers underneath to find the smooth heated flesh underneath. Slim Harry may have been, but Draco was delighted to find firm rippled muscles under his fingertips -the advantage of being a nimble Seeker for the better part of his young life, no doubt. His hands trailed further up.

He grinned against Harry's shoulder when his fingers brushed against taunt nubs, enlisting a choked gasp from the dark-haired Gryffindor. He spread his hands and caressed Harry's nipples with his thumbs, shuddering when the other boy whimpered -_whimpered_! -under his ministrations. By the spirits, he could quickly become addicted to the kind of noises Harry made when he touched him!

Distantly, forbiddenly, _naughtily_ he wondered what kind of noise Harry would make if he actually licked and sucked and nibbled on one of those tantalizing buds. He had almost decided on following through with the impulsive thought, innocent snogging be damned (and since when were snogs considered anything related to innocent anyway?), but Harry distracted him by burying both hands in his hair, tugging Draco's head back and tilting his face up slightly so he could ravage the blond's mouth to his heart's content, plunging his tongue within to stroke against teeth and tongue. The dark-haired youth pulled back slightly to suck on Draco's swollen bottom lip before he clasped it gently between his teeth.

Keeping one thumb drawing circles around a sensitive nipple, Draco moved his other hand around Harry's toned torso, sliding it down until the hand was pressed firmly against the delicate arch of Harry's lower back so he could pull the other boy closer while deepening the kiss eagerly. He wanted to find more places, more tender places on Harry's body to fondle and kiss in hopes of drawing more bedazzling moans out of him–

Knock, knock! Followed by a disgustingly familiar voice that was pitched several octaves higher with some kind of indistinguishable fake accent. "Housekeeping!"

Both boys froze. Green eyes met grey, filled with disbelief and frustration. Neither moved for the span of a moment, daring to hope that the annoying little bastard would just _go away _so they could continue where they left off.

No such luck. "Want me to bring you towels?"

Draco made a pitiful noise in the back of his throat before he broke the kiss reluctantly, though he didn't pull away from the warmth that encompassed him. Harry only slumped as he laid his cheek on the blond's shoulder, sighing heavily in resignation.

Another rapid series of knocks, followed by the same assonant accent. "Housekeeping! Want me to fluff your pillows?"

Draco growled irritably; Harry could hear it vibrate in the blond's chest. "Duo..."

Whoever was out in the corridor with Duo -most likely Heero -said something too low to be heard through the scarred wood of the door. Duo's voice, on the other hand, had a tendency to carry. He definitely sounded petulant about what had been said. "You're spoiling my fun, Hee-chan..."

"Idiot," Draco grumbled, throwing a glare towards the door over his shoulder. Harry snickered, turning his face so he could bury it in the soft material of Draco's disheveled robes. Sighing, Draco stroked the back of Harry's head before he planted a kiss on his crown.

"Do we really have to wait until I find the next Heir to do this again?" Draco mumbled sullenly.

"You agreed to it," Harry reminded him laughingly, pulling away grudgingly.

"A moment of utter madness," Draco said immediately. "Don't know what got into me -wait, I remember." He narrowed his silver eyes at Harry. "I had just woken up from a nap and, in my moment of weakness, someone decided to do something mind-numblingly glorious to my ear."

Harry laughed unrepentantly before he gently pushed Draco back so he could slide off the table, a light pink hue staining his cheeks at Draco's declaration. He wasn't so oblivious that he didn't realize nibbling on his earlobes did something for the blond, but the words _mind-numblingly glorious_ hadn't actually crossed Harry's mind.

He tried vainly to fix up the buttons and tighten his house tie, knowing that whatever poor attempt to make himself presentable would be wasted without a little more time and the aid of a mirror. Checking Draco, he wondered if he looked as thoroughly debauched as the blond, with his swollen lips and tousled hair and rumpled clothing, and eyes shining a little too brightly against the faint flush of his face.

When Draco inspected him in return with a critical glance, finally breaking out into a smile that was a little too smug for his taste, Harry decided that he probably looked worse off in comparison.

"You can stop patting yourself on the back now," Harry said dryly, briefly flirting with the idea of trying to tuck his shirt back into his trousers before disregarding it as quickly as the thought had come to him. He was going straight to Gryffindor Tower anyway. Hopefully he wouldn't stumble across any teachers on his way there, nor would he have to deal with a crowd of lingering house mates before he managed to make it back to the safety of his dorm room.

Knowing his luck, that probably wouldn't be the case.

"But it's so fun," Draco replied teasingly, grin widening slightly. "And you look-"

"Allow me some ignorance over the state of my... er... dishevelment."

Draco chuckled, but refrained from embellishing further. Harry blinked when the blond tweaked his nose, the insufferably smug grin still set firmly in place. "You're too cute."

"You keep saying that," Harry said in a halfhearted grumble. "Cute. What, I can't be..." Well, Harry didn't think he was handsome. Beautiful was out, too, although he wasn't sad to note that as it sounded way too girly to him. "... moderately good-looking?" Even that sounded wrong. What in the world did Draco see in him?

"Moderately?" Draco snorted, glancing at Harry narrowly. "Are you fishing for compliments, Harry?"

"No," Harry said shortly, just shy of glaring at Draco this time.

"Mm-hm. Yeah, sure, I believe you," Draco replied in a way that suggested he was just humoring his boyfriend. Harry gritted his teeth together, contemplating his impulse to slug the blond and stomp out of the room in a snit before Draco's next words put a halt to any follow through. "Just for the record, though, I think you're bloody gorgeous any day. Right now, though..." A long, speculative once-over before the blond finished his comment with a wolfish grin, "you look irresistibly molestable."

Harry blinked wordlessly at Draco before a dark blush stained his cheeks and he looked away, uncomfortable under the favorable appraisal. After a moment, he managed to mumble, "I don't think molestable is actually a word..." Especially one that would apply to him.

"It is if I say it is," Draco retorted with a haughty lift of his head. Oh. There was the high and mighty Draco Black that most people loved to hate. It was probably a good thing for the blond that Harry wasn't like most people.

More knocking at the door, followed by techy whining. "C'mon, guys, wrap it up. Mione said Harry has homework to do before bed, and I don't think she'll let me back in the tower unless I have Harry with me."

"I knew it was a conspiracy," Draco muttered darkly, much to Harry's amusement.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure Hermione and my woeful work load have been cooking up schemes behind my back to disrupt what personal life I have left," Harry said, almost pleasantly. He started for the door, only for Draco to stop him.

"Wait, Harry..." Draco paused, appearing a little somber for a moment. Harry looked back at his boyfriend, frowning when he saw the troubled look on the blond's face. "I don't know if you read this evening's news..."

"You know I can't read that trash anymore," Harry pointed out patiently, wondering what had bothered Draco so much that he would drop his normally flippant attitude. Harry hadn't been able to consider the Daily Prophet a credible source for news since they belittled him to the point of slander when the wizarding world refused to take his claims of Voldemort's return seriously. True, the Ministry had a hand in that, as well, but when a newspaper gave people like Rita Skeeter full rights to do whatever their weasely little black hearts wanted as long as it turned a profit, Harry found he had little patience for it.

"That aside, there's a new Minister of Magic," Draco said, frowning in discontent. Over what, Harry had no idea. "His name is Rufus Scrimgeour and he was the head of the Auror Department before he succeeded Fudge. I hear he wants to meet you personally, but Dumbledore vetoed the idea while you were at Hogwarts."

Harry's brow drew together in consternation, his shoulders tensing slightly at the implication. "What kind of man is Scrimgeour?"

"A shrewd one, though I've never met the man personally," Draco replied. "I also heard that he said he'd find a way around Dumbledore's refusal to allow him to meet you, so he's probably determined to have his way. I also wouldn't put it passed him to target those closest to you, so you'll likely need to give your friends a head's up."

Harry scowled at the thought. He was fine when someone decided they wanted a piece of what made him the bloody Boy Who Lived -after nearly seven years of the preferential treatment (whether Harry wanted it or not) in hopes of gaining a spot in his good graces, he was used to it. When they started going after his friends, too, though...

That pissed him off.

"I don't know if that's dead cert or not," Draco reminded him quietly, "but it doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"Yeah," Harry murmured absently. But... "What about Duo?" he asked suddenly, motioning toward the door where he could hear Duo laughing about something -either at his own joke or something that Heero had said that had amused him. "It's a well-known fact that we're friends. How hard would someone with the power of the Minister have to dig to find out the truth behind his parentage?"

Draco actually drew back in surprise, his eyes widening marginally at the question. It actually took him a moment to formulate a reply, which was rueful and filled with a small amount of self-loathing, "Spirits, I never thought of that... Not many people know the Dark Lord's real name, and Duo goes by a different name." He frowned, turning the idea slowly in his head. "Dumbledore knows, but I don't know how hard he's tried to cover it up since Duo came to Hogwarts. The records at the Ministry might not be so easily changed..."

"And Scrimgeour, being the head of the Auror Department, probably would know Voldemort's real name," Harry finished morosely. "Not to mention what would happen if Scrimgeour got serious about targeting my friends and found out about the kind of stuff he and the others got up to in the muggle world."

"Right," Draco said with a firm nod. "So. What we need is a plan. Not just any plan either. A counter-plan." He straightened his tie and tried to smooth down his flaxen hair with his hand in an attempt to look more presentable before he took the enchantments off the door. "I'll try to drag Heero and Duo away to explain things. You tell your little band of misfits so we can get together tomorrow night and hash out some ideas."

A knock on the door. "Hey, I heard that! What are we doing?" Duo almost sounded _eager_. "Does it involve exploding things?"

Draco waited until he had opened the door to make his succinct, though capricious reply. "Maybe."

The braided boy grinned excitedly, opening his mouth to say something else before the view in front of him registered in his brain, leaving him momentarily speechless. Draco looked rumpled, which was unusual for a boy who insisted on having his person neat and pressed. A glance around Draco revealed a completely different sight.

Harry's hair was wilder than usual, giving Heero's own tousled look a run for his money. His shirt was crinkled, the hem hanging freely instead of neatly tucked in his trousers. His tie was crooked, revealing the fact that he had buttoned the first three buttons on his shirt wrong. Both boys had swollen lips and flushed faces, but Harry was the only one with a very visible hickey blossoming on the side of his throat. Duo thought he saw a second hickey disappear into Harry's collar.

Duo slowly closed his mouth before a slow, coltish grin resurfaced. Eyes dancing merrily, he murmured teasingly, "Wow, dragon boy got really frisky with you, didn't he?"

Harry, having completely forgotten about the state he was in, felt his face burn in response. Draco apparently took pity on his boyfriend before he pushed out of the room, grabbing Duo by the crook of his arm. "See you later, Harry. Come along, git -we need to talk about your horrible sense of timing."

"I'll have you know that I have impeccable timing," Duo said laughingly, trotting obediently along as Draco led him down the corridor. "It's not my fault my impeccable timing only works to my benefit."

Harry left the room, his face still a little hot when he caught Heero raising his eyebrows at him.

"Shut up, Heero," Harry mumbled, finally pulling the tie over his head before he removed his outer robes. He couldn't find the courage to raise his eyes any higher than the floor unless he ran the risk of meeting the Japanese boy's gaze.

"I didn't say anything." Damn him if Heero didn't sounded amused.

"You were thinking it," Harry replied mulishly, finally taking the chance to give the other boy a stern look.

Heero was smirking. "You buttoned your shirt wrong."

Harry turned away with a muttered curse, hurriedly fixing the problem before he gave someone else a reason to gawk or remark on it.

"Oi, Hee-chan!" Duo's voice echoed from further down the corridor. He and Draco had stopped long enough to wait for the Japanese boy. "You coming?"

"Hn," Heero grunted, already walking away from Harry. "See you tomorrow."

"Right," Harry said tiredly, shaking his head before he slowly made his way back to his own tower, alone and with too many thoughts crowding around his head. He doubted he would have much luck with homework, but it was worth a shot.

How was he supposed to tell Ron and Hermione that they needed to plan some kind of subversion against the Minister of Magic in case he decided to nose around where his attention definitely wasn't desired? Telling them to be careful about the Minister was easy enough, and they would understand why Duo's situation would be such a problem. Still, there was the whole 'our newest friends are actually Gundam pilots and they might be in a spot of trouble if anyone at the Ministry actually realizes that' thing, which was unchartered territory as far as Harry knew. Ron wouldn't have a clue what a Gundam pilot was or what they had done, but Hermione would know immediately.

She would probably freak out something fierce before she calmed down long enough to think about it logically. That was just Hermione -she worried over the hypothetical ifs and maybes before actually focusing on the facts long enough to make a decision. Their friends being Gundam pilots wasn't exactly something Harry could make light of in front of Hermione without getting yelled at for being flippant.

"Rubaduck," Harry muttered tonelessly once he'd reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, though the password did bring a smile to his lips. He didn't know how Duo convinced the Gryffindor prefects to let him chose the passwords, but at least words he chose were always vaguely amusing.

He crawled out of the portrait hole, straightening once he was inside. He patted his messy hair self-consciously as he looked around the common room. He was surprisingly lucky, as the only occupants were Hermione and Ron, both of whom were sitting near the fireplace with mounds of homework spread out on the table in front of them. Hermione looked absorbed in her book, but Ron was staring off into space with a thoughtful, distant gleam in his eyes.

Ron brightened when he saw Harry. If he noted anything strange about his friend (like the fact he looked well and thoroughly snogged), the redhead was determined to ignore it. "Hey, Harry! Can you tell me anything about what else Duo did to the Dursleys?"

Hermione, not turning her eyes away from the words of her book, frowned thoughtfully. She didn't ask; instead, she turned to the next page of her textbook.

Harry blinked at the sudden question, caught off guard. He walked further into the room, tossing his discarded robe and tie onto the arm of the chair he ultimately ended up flopping in, completely boneless as he slouched.

"I already told you what he did. Shaved the walrus' head. Put glue in the horse's hair. Turned the piggy into an ice cream sundae -as in, covered him with all the fixings of a sundae, not by use of transfiguration. Can we talk about something else?" Harry said meaningfully, obviously wanting to move on.

"That doesn't sound illegal at all!" Ron insisted, frowning. "Why would Duo want to keep quiet about it if it's just harmless pranking?"

"Who told you he did something illegal?" Harry nearly yelped, sitting up straight. He was obviously bothered by the accusation.

Ron, a note of confusion in his voice, mumbled, "Well... _Duo_ told me that. He said he'd be in a lot of trouble in the muggle world if it got around that he was the one who did what he did to the Dursleys." He scratched his head sheepishly. "Duo reminded me about it when he mutter something about called people who're prejudice against others dursleys from now on, both muggle and pureblood alike."

Hermione snapped her book shut soundly, startling the two boys. She calmly leaned forward and place the book on the table before correcting her posture. Her gaze stonily expectant, she twined her fingers in her lap and prompted evenly, "Well, Harry? We're listening."

Harry winced. "I already told Ron what happened," he said, somewhat defensively. "He shaved my uncle bald. He fashioned Aunt Petunia's hair into horns with glue. He made Dudley the main ingredient in an ice cream sundae."

"That must have taken some time," Hermione murmured, vaguely relieved that, by the sound of it, the Dursleys had survived a brush with a well-meaning terrorist that had a penchant for pranking. "So how did he get them to sit still?"

By the way Harry blanched, Hermione wasn't going to like the process that led up to a rather ridiculous outcome. "I stuck them to the couch via duct tape. Nearly two rolls of it, actually."

"Bet you liked that," Ron said, snickering. Harry grinned unrepentantly, and even Hermione had to stifle a chuckle. The Dursleys were horrible people, especially when Harry was involved. That the last thing Harry ever saw was them confined under his own power and suffering under Duo's playful (and perhaps justly motivated) attention was probably the best thing for Harry. After all, he never had to go back to them again.

"However did you get them to sit still for that?"

The grin froze on Harry's face before it fell away. He knew Hermione wouldn't give up on her line of questioning. Turning his eyes away, he decided to come clean with it. "It started in the dining room," he said quietly, without emotion. "Duo got upset by the Dursleys usual regard for me. The funny thing was, they weren't even trying to acknowledge me." He sighed. "That's when Duo made the light fixture explode."

"On purpose?" Hermione asked without rancor. Harry shook his head.

"It was an accident. Heero said Duo has problems controlling his magic when he's feeling... highly emotional." Actually, Heero had bluntly admitted that, during sex, Duo had a tendency to make the air spark in small, powerful bursts of colorful fireworks. Draco hadn't stopped laughing for several minutes afterwards, and even Duo's casual dismissal of the blond's amusement didn't seem to spoil the Slytherin's good mood.

Ron, enraptured, leaned in eagerly. "Then what?"

Harry wasn't nearly so enthusiastic. "Uncle Vernon thought that I did it. If they'd known Duo was a wizard like me, they would have never let him through the door." He shrugged lightly. "So he drew the most logical conclusion and hauled me off to the living room for a private chat. When Duo had enough of hearing him insult me, he... confessed to the supposed crime.

"Uncle Vernon accused me of inviting Duo. Then Duo mentioned that he was perfectly within his rights to use magic to detain him, since he was seventeen and of age. That just seemed to make Uncle Vernon even angrier at me. I smarted off to him, and he hit me.

"And that," he said evenly, before Hermione and Ron could burst into appalled sympathy, "is when Duo shot Uncle Vernon."

Silence.

"What?" Hermione whispered, horrified.

"What kind of spell did he use?" Ron asked, enthralled.

"He didn't use a spell," Hermione said, understanding the term in the way that Harry meant it. "He used a muggle weapon you've heard about in Muggle Defense. A firearm."

"How do you know that?" Ron asked.

"Because I know a lot more about Duo and his friends than you do," Hermione said calmly. "At least, I know what sort of things Duo was involved him, as he's the only Gundam pilot that was ever revealed."

"You know about that, huh?" Harry said softly.

"So do you, apparently," Hermione parried, curious. "How do you know?"

"I asked him about it a long time ago," Harry admitted. "He told me he was a terrorist. Actually, I knew about the Gundam pilot thing after Quatre showed up. I even got to see Quatre's Gundam once, but I didn't recognize it for what it was at the time."

"You asked and he just... told you?" Hermione said incredulously, stumped.

"Yeah. C'mon, Mione, what does Duo always say?" Harry rolled his eyes. "'I run and I hide, but I never tell a lie.' That's him in a nutshell."

"But being a Gundam pilot isn't anything someone would confess just because a friend asked," Hermione insisted uncertainly.

"Gundam?" Ron blurted, clearly lost. Then, registering what Harry had confessed, he yelped, "Terrorist! Harry, I don't know if you've realized this, but that's what the _Death Eaters_ are!"

"It's a little more complicated than that, Ron," Hermione explained. "The political climate was vastly different. The space colonies wanted to be independent from Earth, and the Alliance fought back. The Gundam pilots -Gundams being almost like those mobile suits Marquise has been lecturing us about, except made from a nearly indestructible alloy called gundanium -were fighting for the liberation of the colonies." After a moment, she added, "I don't blame the colonies for wanting to be independent. Earth's governments were like totalitarian dictators over them, and they were virtually powerless to stop it."

Harry grinned. That was Hermione, alright -advocating the rights of the wronged, whether the mistreatment was resented or not.

Harry felt the grin slowly fade from his face. Speaking of mistreatment, if not of governmental power than by ambiguous yet possibly immoral intentions in the name of aforementioned policy-making system... He pinned both of his friends with a weighty look. "Now that we have that out in the open, I need to tell you guys something. It's about the new Minister of Magic..."

----------

_Why can't things ever be easy_?

It was a question that plagued man since the beginning of rational thought. Why couldn't life be easy? Oh, there were times when a man felt as if he was coasting on the highest cloud without a care in the world, completely content that all was right in the world. For example, finding a library that brought him one step closer to ridding himself and the mortal plane of the cancerous leech commonly referred to as He Who Must Not Be Named. Wait, scratch that -Duo had been promised that old so-and-so and his merry band of sycophants would be suffering a fate worse than death. Either way, he was guaranteed some kind of personal satisfaction, provided nothing else went wrong.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had accepted him as Duo Maxwell, happy-go-lucky court jester, steadfast companion, and (reluctant) spawn of What's His Face without a whole lot of angsting and yelling and making hand gestures to ward off Dark Lord cooties. Considering the infamous Gryffindor Trio's lackluster acceptance of what Duo could barely stomach himself had been way better than his best case scenario, he thought his coming out confession had been a complete success.

He should have known better than to expect the good karma to last, especially since he had wracked up so much bad karma during the war that he would probably be reincarnated as a cockroach before he met a sticky end in his next life pinned to Styrofoam in some third-grader's lousy science project, neat little label and all.

This time, his trouble came in the form of _politics_, of all things, and wasn't that a lark? Politics had never been his strong suit and, not surprisingly, the cause of ninety-nine percent of his internal woes in one way or another. Couldn't show his face in the colonies because some ingenious jack-off way back when decided wanted posters were nifty. Couldn't show his face in the muggle world because of the same damn problem and the government wanted to nail _somebody_ to the cross, so why not a Gundam pilot or five? Now he had to worry about the wizarding government under a more competent rule digging too deep into his personal life because of who he associated with, which ran the risk of exposing his less-than-admirable lineage to the wrong sort of people. It wasn't Harry's fault people couldn't leave him well enough alone, but damn it, it still sucked.

Then there was Blaise Zabini. Not a bad kid, actually, Duo kind of liked him. Spunky. The crux of the problem was that the Slytherin was poking his spunk in all the wrong places. _Crap, that even sounded dirty and wrong in my brain. That clenches it -there's no cleansing my mind, the gutter stain set a long time ago_. It should have been impossible for anyone to know about their frequent journeys in and out of Zechs' suite since the map had provided an all clear, but Blaise was getting his information _somehow_, leaving even Heero in a sulky, clueless snit. _Not that Heero in a snit is apparent to just anyone, but he gets so friggin' stoic and stone-faced..._

Dealing with Blaise was going to be delicate work. Duo was almost certain Draco wouldn't appreciate them bullying one of his friends to keep his spunk out of other people's business. _God, somebody stop me from making dirty puns!_

Of course, in Duo's dirty little mind, no one was there to offer salvation. Besides, spunk was too fun a word to outlaw, even mentally...

To top it all of, _Draco_, of all people, had seen more action than he had lately, and the blond idiot was supposed to be hopeless in leading his relationship with Harry anywhere remotely naughty. It just wasn't fair.

Duo snorted, a little disgusted with himself when he realized how whiney his inner monologue sounded. Okay, so things were starting to go a little south. No reason to sulk over it -he'd just have to make what he could of it and trudge forward with as much enthusiasm as possible. _Life's a bitch, and sometimes she has puppies. Solution? Well, neutering the dog never hurt anyone... except the dog, probably_.

That particularly enrapturing idea finally brought a manic grin back to Duo's face just as he obediently supplied the Fat Lady (Lilah or something, or that was what Trowa had told him once) with the password of the month. He rallied enough of his good humor to breeze into the common room confidently, immediately spotting three of his friends sitting near the fireplace. Whatever they were discussing in hushed voices halted immediately as three pairs of eyes turned to him simultaneously.

Duo made a beeline for the boys' dorms, but stopped long enough to grin disarmingly at his three friends and toss a cheerful comment towards them before he ran up the stairs, seemingly in a hurry.

Duo didn't make it halfway up the staircase before he stopped cold. _What's this? My spidey-senses... They're all a-tingle. _Then, with practiced ease, he slowly walked backwards down the stairs until he was at the base. He turned smartly on his heels and raised an eyebrow at the Gryffindor Trio, giving them all a critical once over.

"Okay," Duo said suddenly, interest piqued. "Why is Ron staring at me like I just won a wrestling match against a troll?" The American may have been over exaggerating about the gobsmacked expression on the redhead's face, but the imagery fit the bill. Hermione, for that matter, was staring too, though she hid what she was thinking a lot better than he could give most people credit for.

Harry scratched his head sheepishly. "They know."

Duo was almost amused that Harry thought that was an adequate explanation. "About...?" he prompted in a drawling voice.

"About what happened at the Dursleys," Harry embellished with an apologetic smile.

Instead of laughing the event in question off like Harry had expected, Duo blanched in horror. Harry barely had enough time to wonder what had caused the unusual reaction before Duo gulped and managed to voice his next words hurriedly.

"I can explain _everything_."

_**END CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**_

* * *

**This is the part where I want to scream, "No, Duo, stop! You're just going to dig yourself a deeper hole!"**

**Guess you'll just have to wait until the next chapter to find out what I mean. Unless you're clever and figure it out, in which case, cleverness deserves to be rewarded with cookies. :**_**cackles wickedly and runs away:**_


	19. The Perpetual Friday

AUTHOR'S NOTES: New material and fresh ideas can be blamed for delaying this chapter. I had one thing set in my mind, and by the end of it, something completely different went into affect. Hope you enjoy the fruit of my labor anyway. :grins:

In my honest opinion, this chapter is a bit like a filler. I'm setting up things to be put into motion -the Hall of Hufflepuff should be coming up in the next two or three (... or four, maybe five...) chapters, as well as the culmination of certain things that I've left pretty much hanging since the prequel. Unpredictable outside influences are being introduced, Duo's mother is getting a little attention, and Voldemort finally makes a move. Oh, and something happens to one of the Gundam pilots, but I'm not inclined to share anything further. :smiles angelically:

I put a lot of effort into all 32 pages of this chapter, though, so I hope it's not a big disappointment.

Sincere gratitude to everyone who has taken the time to review, and for the non-reviewers, a small cup of "thank you" for just taking the time to read. Either I have a lot of those, or many of you are coming back for seconds. Either way, thanks a lot.

Also, I had to go back and change the day in the last chapter. I wanted to get some things out of the way before sending them off to Hogsmeade, which kind of involved actually going to classes. And if anybody is sharp enough to keep up with class schedules and noticed some kind of inconsistency, I'd like to point out that JKR rarely clarified Harry's class schedule, so I don't see why I should try to keep it straight, too. :grins:

(I really did write it down somewhere. It was all pretty and clean, carefully thought out according to each individual character... In fact, I wrote it in a notebook that is currently lost in a large pile of notebooks. :blank expression: I have not had the time to look through them. It may take me a while to find it.)

Much praise to Zanne, for proofreading this chapter thoroughly while dealing with settling back into her dorm and recovering from her cold. Poor luv has to deal with my poor timing and shoddy deadlines... And Yahoo!'s conspiracy with the internet gnomes to make outgoing and incoming emails disappear. (Long, looong story...)

ONWARD!

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
**__**Capricious Purple Clarity  
**__**Chapter Nineteen**_

* * *

Duo felt as if he were an animal with his leg caught in a trap. And, like any trapped animal, he was fully prepared to gnaw his own leg off to make a swift (if painful) retreat.

"I can explain _everything_," he swore, his face heating up under the scrutiny. Hermione and Ron exchanged wary expressions, and Harry tilted his head to the side. If Duo had been paying much attention to the black-haired boy, he would have noticed that Harry was visibly bewildered.

"Harry already explained what happened," Hermione said slowly, frowning.

"Yeah, but you need to know that it's all _Draco's_ fault," Duo insisted adamantly. "Well, I mean, most of it was Draco's fault. The fact of the matter is, Draco is an evil fiend." This last statement being said as completely factual, as if no man living could honestly prove differently and any attempt to do so would be ruthlessly mocked. Likely by the blond himself.

"Well, yeah, that's a given," acknowledged Ron with a magnanimous nod of his head.

"But _how_ is it Draco's fault?" Hermione asked, still not seeing the connection.

Harry's face brightened in realization before his eyes widened behind his glasses. He tried to motion for Duo to stop talking, but the American was already trying to reassign the blame.

"Because he stacked the cards in our bet and Heero didn't tell me," Duo explained petulantly. "So, see, he _made_ me visit Harry on his birthday in that stupid dress and those stupid heels wearing that stupid makeup -which I burned the first chance I got, by the way, because I'm not a crossdresser and Pigboy obviously has a poor taste in women!" He ended his rant in a raised voice, crossing his arms indignantly over his chest and giving them all a mulish glare. "I do not look like a girl!"

Ron and Hermione gaped. Harry hid his face in his hands with a small groan.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ron blurted, wide-eyed.

"Uh..." Duo was flummoxed. "... What the hell are you _thinking_ about?"

"You," Hermione said steadily, a small grin hiding behind her stern stare, "shooting Vernon Dursley."

"Well, _now_ we're not," Ron muttered, still staring at Duo -this time, in morbid fascination.

Still oblivious, Duo only blinked in response. Harry lifted his face from his hands and said in a small, gentle voice, "Duo... I didn't tell them that part."

"O-oh," Duo mumbled, knocked off-balance. Realizing what he had just done, he dropped his chin to his chest so that he was facing the floor in utter humiliation. Eyes sliding closed in defeat, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, God fuck it."(1)

The amused grin flirting with Hermione's lips finally broke into a full-blown smile, and she allowed a chuckle to slip by. She decided she wouldn't reprimand Duo for his foul language this time, seeing as how he had adequately punished himself prior to the curse.

Her voluntary slip broke what precious little control Ron had over his own amusement. He howled with laughter, doubled over with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Harry snorted, hiding his quiet chuckles behind the palm of his hand though his quaking shoulders was enough of a damning testimony.

Duo managed to weather the abuse to his ego for all of half a minute. By the end of his patience, Hermione had fallen quiet, though she still sneaked cattily amused glances in his direction. Ron was breathless from laughter; combined with an unfortunate case of hiccups, it was no wonder that the redhead's face flushed red. Harry had the decency to look somewhat sympathetic, but the wizard hero was devoid of guilt.

Not that Harry didn't have a right to feel guilt-free, seeing as Duo revealed his dark secret all on his own. Mumbling an oath against his incorrect assumptions under his breath, Duo combed his fingers through his bangs and said, loudly and forlornly, "If anyone needs me, I'll be in the dorm room, hiding from my shame underneath my blankets."

"Wait, Duo," Harry called after him with a hopeful note in his tone, "do you want to do your homework with us?" Upon noting the skeptical expression on the American's face, Harry amended, "I promise no one will bring up that thing that happened that first time. One time!" He backtracked hastily, very aware of the incredulous grief that bled over Duo's face as Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "That thing that happened that one time."

"Harry!" Duo wailed piteously. "You blew it!"

"I'm sorry!" Harry cried repentantly.

"I've been outed as a semi-frequent drag queen," Duo bemoaned. "Granted, the first great reveal was my fault, but c'mon! Whose dog did I kill in a former life to rack up the bad mojo?"

Harry's mind utterly blanked out when he realized the reason Duo stopped talking and stared at him imploringly was because the braided boy honestly expected some sort of answer. Harry's mouth worked silently for a second before he said unthinkingly, "At least you found Heero's kinky side."

Duo blinked, turning the response around in his head. While it didn't have anything to do with his current dilemma, kinky-Heero was an absolute treasure. Kinky-Heero led to really great sex. That it required Duo to wear a dress was embarrassing, but the end more than justified the means.

When he turned away from his thoughts, he noticed that Harry had covered his mouth with his hand, eyes wide with horror. Confused, Duo switched the direction of his gaze to Hermione and Ron, both of whom were silently staring back at him in stone-faced disbelief.

He shrugged. "He had a Slytherin cheerleader uniform made in my size and announced it for the world to hear. You already knew my boyfriend was a pervert."

"I thought he was just pulling your chain," Ron said hesitantly.

"He gave off that impression," Duo said dryly. "Harry, you're forgiven only because a) I can see you are truly remorseful, and b) Heero's deviant side pleases me, even if it leads to me wearing women's clothes. Thanks for bringing it up."

"You're welcome?" Harry responded uncertainly, baffled by the sudden shift in the conversation.

Duo pointed up the stairs, still looking at Harry. "I have to get my kit, but I'll be down in a bit."

"All right," Harry murmured absently. He watched the American take the stairs at a jog and looked at his friends when he was certain Duo was out of earshot. Deadpan, he muttered, "Bipolar is a good adjective for him."

"Was Duet a good name for her?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Ron, don't tease him! Especially if he isn't even here," Hermione chided, though she was fighting back a grin.

"I won't get to badger him when he comes back, thanks to Harry," Ron argued defensively. "C'mon, mate, you could at least tell me if he was convincing or not."

"It took me a minute to figure out why the pretty girl with the American accent seemed so familiar," Harry admitted. "If I'd never met Duo before, he probably would have fooled me completely."

"If he was that adverse to his first experience in a dress," Hermione started wonderingly, "why did he try a second time?"

"That's Cissa's fault," Duo announced grandly, startling the three Gryffindors. He paced the distance between the stairs and the fireplace with surefooted grace, setting his satchel on the floor beside the chair he dropped into. "She was teaching me a gypsy dance and told me she couldn't be sure if I was moving right without the skirt on. That's when I learned not to take most of what Narcissa says in earnest very seriously." With only a slight pause, he barreled on, "Actually, I take that back. It was after she told me I couldn't wear my pants under the skirt because it inhibited movement, etcetera. Whole damn family is full of foxy snobs, if you ask me."

"We were trying to warn you," Ron said pointedly. "Then Harry had to go and fall in love with the git, so now we're _all_ stuck with him." The redhead had the grace to keep his eyes on Duo instead of giving Harry a piteous glance.

"That just rounds back to his family being full of _foxy_ snobs," Harry said, matter-of-fact. "Is anyone getting anywhere with their Potions essays?"

"Finished mine," Duo announced cheerfully. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bound, red and black speckled notebook that he immediately handed to Harry, much to Hermione's protest. Harry eagerly took the notebook with a murmured word of gratitude. On the front of the notebook was an oval circle in which were printed the words _Name_, _Subject, _and _Grade_, each followed by colons and straight underlines. In those spaces, Duo had written his name and referred to _Subject_ as_ 7__th__ Year Potions Homework_. Beside _Grade_, he'd written _Gryffindor_.

A bit taken aback about how abnormal the familiarity of doing homework the muggle way was, Harry had to tilt his head in contemplation before he let the spine crack open to the last page written, which looked to be the last part of their assignment. Over three-fourths of the book had been filled with tiny, neatly printed words and a number of detailed pictures, most of which were written around as if they were illustrations. There was a small, bubbling cauldron; an accurate drawing comparing shredded shrivelfig to diced shrivelfig while detailing the visible difference... a boxed off bottom left corner of a page, therein was written a poem that began with the line "Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble."

Harry gave Duo an incredulous stare. The American had turned his attention to his Transfiguration assignment, though he had apparently asked Hermione something since the girl was busy explaining the subtleties of animating what was once an inanimate object. Hermione stopped long enough to breath, prompting Harry to blurt, "Snape actually lets you turn in your homework like this?"

Duo cranked his neck around to blink at Harry, confused. Harry lifted the notebook with a raised eyebrow, spurring the American to grin at him.

"Yeah. Amazing, isn't it?" he replied boastfully, preening. "He even sometimes adds comments at the top of the page." Granted, they weren't very pleasant comments and usually included point reduction, but Duo thought some of the red inked comments and post-notes were clever.

"And he's never once complained about how muggle it is?" Hermione asked, noticing what Harry had been absorbed in for the passed few minutes.

"Of course he did," Duo said breezily, waving the Potions Master's disapproval like a fly buzzing around his ear. "I informed him that I intend to keep my homework after school because it could be of some use to me someday, and I wasn't going to transcribe an entire year's worth of homework into a more manageable form again. I have the same arrangement going on with the rest of the teachers. So do the others, for that matter."

"And the illustrations?"

Duo didn't even blink. "There's no such thing as an interesting personal grimoire without doodles. I checked."

Harry shook his head, restraining a smile. "And the poetry?"

"Everyone knows Macbeth," the American replied simply. "That poem happens to be a project I had for English class at St. Christopher's Boys Academy. I went there for a few weeks about two and a half years ago." He stretched his arms over his head and twisted his head, brow puckered in thought. "We had to write our own poem in the gruesome styling of the Three Witches. I thought it was ironic that mine sounds a lot like the Draught of the Living Dead, so I wrote it in my homework."

"You went to a school for only a few weeks?" Ron asked, surprised. "What happened?"

"I blew up a military base that was manufacturing mobile suits and had to transfer," Duo replied frankly, only for his words to be met with dead silence. Growing uncomfortable under the careful examination his fellow Gryffindors were giving him, he said defensively, "What? Harry knew! Hermione, I _know_ you knew. Somebody has to have clued Ron in by now!"

"Just a little while before you walked in, actually," Ron mumbled. "Didn't retain a lot from it, but Mione and Harry seem to agree that whatever you did was justified."

"Not _entirely_ justified," Hermione rebuked, not unkindly, "though certainly understandable, considering everything that was going on in the muggle world at the time.

"I didn't expect you to be so open about it," Hermione continued, looking back toward Duo. "Most people like to keep their secrets buried."

Duo was quiet for only a moment before he said confidently, "Yeah, but we're friends, right?" He grinned teasingly. "And I've been on this kick about shining a bright spotlight on my dark secrets, see? Like the time I admitted to sharing chromosomes with a man named Tom Marvolo Riddle, who just sounds like some kind of batty juggler in a three-ring circus. Or that time I revealed that I've started dressing in drag in my private life."

"I remember that last one like it was only half an hour ago," Ron said, guiltlessly nostalgic.

"Ah, memories," Duo sighed fondly, playing along with Ron's light-hearted ribbing.

Hermione covertly checked the time before swinging a glance around the common room. The room had been unusually deserted when Duo and Heero had left to send Harry back to the Gryffindor Tower, save for a handful of first and second years that had gathered on the other side of the room. When Duo came back, everyone save the trio of seventh years had cleared out.

"Now that we're up to pace," Hermione murmured quietly, "what is to be done about the new Minister of Magic?"

Duo stilled for a moment before he groaned, his shoulders slumping forward. "Man, a guy just can't get a _break_..."

"It needs to be discussed," Hermione said apologetically, "or all of us are going to bed thinking about it."

"I know," the American sighed, capping his ink pen. "Guess I won't be getting this Transfiguration assignment done tonight." Blithely, he added as an afterthought, "Maybe someone will be nice to me tomorrow and help me word the rest of my essay." That said, he fluttered his eyelashes imploringly at Hermione.

The Head Girl stared back at him, nonplused. "Did you mean help you with your essay or were you hinting that you want me to dictate what the rest of your essay should say?"

Duo grinned impishly. "Which offer is on the table?"

"I'll help you with it tomorrow at breakfast," Hermione offered. "Fair?"

"That'll do, thank you," Duo said with a nod of satisfaction. "So. Scrimgeour. Most of our information about him comes from the Daily Prophet and Blaise Zabini. I'll doubt the Prophet any day, but Blaise traded his information for information about what we're doing in Zechs' suite all the time. At least, that's what Draco assumed. Heero is despondent, of course. He can't figure out how Blaise knew where we were going in our spare time since we've been using the map. Trowa reacted with typical stoicism. Quatre and Wufei don't even know yet, and I'm not very excited about going back over this with them as soon our schedules permit."

Hermione coughed delicately in her fist when she realized Duo had veered off the subject. There was only a slight hitch, a quick inscrutable glance at Hermione, then eyes were back forward and the American quickly switched back to the topic at hand.

"One thing we _do_ know is that there is a strong possibility that Scrimgeour wants to meet with Harry, likely in private. Dumbledore denied him the opportunity while Harry is at Hogwarts, and the Minister swore he'd find a way." Duo paused.

"There is also a slimmer possibility that he might target all of us to get to Harry. I legally changed my name to Duo Maxwell on the first day of last summer, but there might be some kind of documentation somewhere with the other name on it. Quatre's a very public figure in the muggle world, and I think we all know that I'm quite photogenic when I'm beaten and in shackles." The American shook his head. "Even Wufei has a picture on his record -hell, Trowa has a record of service in OZ Special Forces, though I think Khushrenada's camp pretty much kept those two to themselves. Heero, on the other hand, could probably come away from this clean if he weren't suspect to guilt by association."

"Actually, there was a grainy photograph of him circulating on the news," Hermione interjected hesitantly. "I saw it last Christmas."

"Scratch that last part then," Duo said with a sigh. "And we haven't even gone into speculation about why Scrimgeour wants to see Harry bad enough to challenge Dumbledore over it. This, my friends, is classified as a Code Red Clusterfuck."

"Duo, watch your mouth!" Hermione scolded sternly.

"What?" Duo said defensively. "I call it like I see it. By my crass, colonial American standards, this is almost like a cluster of clusterfucks." Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but the braided boy barreled on, "We don't have enough information, we're cut completely out of the loop, no one even thought to tell us what the Minister was up to or why, and we still have no freaking _clue_ as to what Voldemort is planning right now." He frowned, clearly irritated. "He's been quiet for ages. I'm starting to get kind of twitchy in a vaguely paranoid way." _Which might just mean I've been assimilating Heero's antisocial traits -frightening -but somehow, I doubt that's the case._

"So let's find a way to get back in the loop," Ron said brazenly. "That's easy enough. We'll ask Fred and George."

"You don't honestly think those two would risk their positions in the Order to leak information to us, do you?" Hermione said skeptically. "I mean, I know they're tricksters, but..."

"Those two go on and on about how they owe Harry a lot," Ron said, shooting a pointed glance in his friend's direction, "and they still won't tell me why. You always dodge the question, Harry."

Harry sighed. "I gave them my winnings from the Tri-Wizard Tournament to help them get their business started."

"You _what_?" Ron and Hermione exclaimed with equal amounts of disbelief.

Duo leaned forward in his chair and looked almost excited. "Really?"

"I didn't want the prize money," Harry explained shortly. "The twins had been hounding after Ludo Bagman all year about the bet they had won against him at the Quidditch World Cup. I used the prize money to pay off his debt."(2)

He conveniently left out the part when he made the twins promise to buy their little brother a nice set of dress robes. Ron wouldn't appreciate it if Harry revealed that he'd arranged it that way because the redhead wouldn't accept the gift from him directly out of a misplaced sense of pride.

"So that's where they got the money to market those Skiving Snackboxes in their last year," Hermione murmured.

"Hey, I'm starting to like the idea about grilling the Weasley twins," Duo announced, bringing them back to the subject at hand. "I vote we pester them at Hogsmeade this Saturday. Hopefully, they won't be at their Diagon Alley location."

"The twins make it a point to be at the Hogsmeade store when the students visit the village," Ron assured him confidently.

"Sweet. I love exploring avenues," Duo said, some of his good-humor returning. "Thanks, Ron."

"Er, your welcome?" Ron replied uncertainly, not expecting to be thanked for throwing out a suggestion. When Harry grinned at him, he couldn't help but to grin in return.

"Now we need some dirt on Minister Scrimgeour," Duo mused. "We _could_ make Blaise swear a Wizard's Oath that he'll never reveal any information about what we've been up to, then bring him into the fold so we can use his connections.

"Draco said the Zabinis are mostly neutral, but lean closer to pureblood loyalty. Blaise has been careful to never declare sides. From what Draco explained, his entire family has never been involved in politics, but they mingle amongst politicians. They don't hate muggles or muggleborns, but the Zabinis chose not to associate with them. They don't intend to help or hinder Voldemort or the Ministry, yet they associate with both camps."

"That's kind of odd, isn't it?" Harry asked, brow furrowed in thought. "Letting a pureblood family with such good standings go about their merry lives isn't the type of thing Voldemort would do. He tried to wipe out entire bloodlines for going against him during his first rise."

"I said the same thing to Draco," Duo said with a shake of his head. "He got a weird look on his face and said that was just the way things were. It was obvious he was keeping something to himself, but I didn't push it."

"There might be truth in the rumors going around about the Zabinis being involved in the Black Arts," Ron said, face paler than usual. "There have been a number of necromancers, incubi, and succubi that crop up in that family." He shuddered queasily. "Dark blood running true."

"You mean succuba or succubuses," Hermione corrected automatically before the impact of Ron's words set in. Her eyes widened, jaw dropping open wordlessly for a moment before, floundering, she said, "I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"You didn't know?" Ron asked, genuinely surprised.

"I haven't heard anything about it," Harry said, surprised.

"This is the first I've heard of it, too," Duo admitted curiously, inclining his head towards Ron. "Why would anyone want to learn necromancy? And how do you train to be an incubus or a succubus?"

Ron was taken aback by the line of questioning. "You don't learn how to be any of those things. Zabinis are usually born with the ability," he explained, quickly realizing that all three of his fellow Gryffindors had their eyes trained on him. "No one has ever told you about some of the quirks about the oldest pureblood families?"

"It's not in any of the library books," Hermione said, scandalized, "and I know almost all Hogwarts Library by heart!"

"That would be a no," Duo quipped. "Does the Weasley Family have any quirks? Besides being incredibly virile, that is." Then, shit-eating grin plastered on his face, the American simpered at Ron, "Prewitt women must be extremely fertile, which explains the sudden boom in the wizarding population after Molly and Arthur was pronounced husband and wife."

"Oi!" Ron snapped out, trying to hit Duo with his Muggle Defense book and failing. "Weasleys are revolutionists, but Prewitts are daredevils. Both bloodlines are known for having good luck. Mild stuff, compared to what I've heard about the other bloodlines."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Well, the Zabini Family is a good example," Ron pointed out. "They have an affinity for the flesh -dead or alive. With the kind of people born into that family every other generation, I'm not surprised everyone leaves them alone." The redhead glanced at Harry quickly for a moment before he added, "I heard that the Malfoy Family are known for spiritual communionists and fortune tellers. My dad thinks that's how the Malfoys earned their money in the beginning."

Harry's first reaction was to brush the idea away as unlikely. Draco didn't even own a deck of Tarot cards and was adamant about being happy if he never had to say one word to the fraud of a Divination professor. Spiritual communionist, though... Harry wasn't quite sure what that phrase meant.

"Spiritual communionist?" Hermione repeated. "Do you mean that Malfoys are known to produce psychic mediums?"

"Draco can talk to the dead?" Duo said, unimpressed. "So can anyone else. There are tons of dead people floating about."

"Okay, first," Ron said loudly, holding up a finger to silence the barrage of questions, a little overwhelmed. "I don't know what you mean by psychic mediums, but there have been reports of wizards and witches with the ability to commune with spirits, sometimes leading to visions from the afterlife. Most cases can be traced directly back to the Malfoys, but they don't confirm the rumor.

"Not ghosts, Duo," Ron informed him. "Spirits that have actually passed on. Why do you think the Malfoy Family shows such reverence to their ancestors? If the rumors are true, I mean," he added hurriedly. "None of this is really official. You won't find it in a book anywhere. Most families are really private about their affinities."

"Affinities," Duo echoed faintly, intrigued. "So, say they made Trelawney the Divinations professor here because the Sight runs in her family..."

"That's exactly the case," Harry said, surprising himself. "Trelawney's ancestor was a Seer. In fact, she's actually made a handful of prophecies, one of which I know came true. The other is currently a work in progress."

Ron and Hermione grew uncomfortable at the reminder that Harry had more than one prophecy hanging over his head. Duo blinked, glancing at the black-haired boy in surprise. "_Trelawney_ is the one responsible for all that mysticism about not living while the other survives?"

Harry shrugged. "She had the vision on the day of her job interview. Dumbledore hired her on the spot."

"That figures," Duo remarked, tone even and lacking bite. No one knew whether the American's ambiguous response was directed at Trelawney, Dumbledore, or both, and he didn't bother to elaborate further.

"I bet Orie's is better," Duo said impulsively, a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Immensely helpful, though the last half is more like a cleverly arranged scavenger hunt," Hermione said dryly. "The first part, however, is genuine prophecy."

"Being a Seer," Duo said, changing the subject abruptly, "she comes from a family with an affinity, right?"

"Yeah," Ron said slowly, wondering where the odd line of questioning was leading.

"Is it possible that my dementor killing thing is an affinity?" Duo asked. "Not from the male half of the equation, obviously. Pops looked like he was going to burst an artery when it happened."

"I've never heard about anything like it before," Ron said. "What was your mum's maiden name?"

"Proud," Duo said. "Angelica Proud."

Ron mulled over the name quietly for a moment before he shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, mate. I don't recognize the name."

"I wasn't really expecting a miracle," Duo said, laughing it off. "My mom was an American transfer student. She was Sorted into Slytherin, attended two years at Hogwarts to finish her degree, and was, quoting Dumbledore, 'charming.'" Duo paused, frowning. "She rubbed elbows with Lucius Malfoy and did scandalous things with Tomboy. Oh, and I look a lot like her according to Lucy. The Headmaster said I have her eyes. That's all I really know about her."

"Whoa," Ron said sympathetically, "sorry about that, mate."

Duo shrugged, apathetic. "I don't really think about it much."

"But she was your mother," Harry murmured quietly.

"People who have a childhood like mine," Duo replied, just as quietly, "fought every day to survive. Fantasies about true families coming along to save you from life in hell are stomped down very early on."

He quieted for a moment, staring at the fireplace with a far off expression on his fact. Ron's jaw had dropped open in shock when Duo briefly described his childhood, and Hermione's hand flew over her mouth in mild horror. Harry imploringly motioned for them to save their questions, trying to promise that he would explain later with his eyes. After drudging up so much of his past, Harry suspected Duo wouldn't want to answer any questions about his childhood.

"Kids who remembered their parents had it worse off. They had something to cling to," Duo said distantly, lost in a memory. "I was considered lucky because I didn't know where I came from."

"What year did your mother attend Hogwarts?" Hermione asked abruptly, startling Duo from his pensive mood.

"AC 177-179," he rallied off immediately, recalling that Dumbledore had told him that she started in AC 177 and finished her education. He turned back to Hermione. "Why do you want to know?"

"It sounds to me like your only hope for answers is to track down who your mother's friends were in school," Hermione said promptly. "Right now, she's your only lead behind the truth of what you can do. There is always a chance Angelica Proud told one of her friends something vital about her family bloodline."

For a long moment, Duo could only stare at Hermione with an expression of wonder on his face. Then he laughed and nodded his head knowingly. "See, Mione, that's why they made you Head Girl. You have all the answers."

Hermione's cheeks pinked, but she had to duck her head to hide her smile.

The four Gryffindors spoke for almost an hour longer before the irresistible pull of warm sheets, soft beds, and even softer pillows led them away from the fireplace.

----------

When Duo awoke the next morning, he was in a decidedly good mood. He didn't even mind that the view outside the seventh year boys' dorm was bleakly overcast, the distant already dark with the threat of a major storm. Despite the ominous forecast, Duo gracefully leaped out of bed and didn't stop moving until he was freshly showered, teeth brushed and mouth washed, deodorized, and dressed for the day.

By the time the American returned to their dorm room to put away his toiletries, Ron was awkwardly leaning halfway out of bed, legs still entangled in his bed sheets as he rummaged through his bedside drawer. Neville was already up and gathering his own hygiene kit, leaving the room with a neatly folded towel thrown over one shoulder. Dean and Seamus showed no signs of waking. Harry was already in the process of putting on his school uniform, and soon he was carefully knotting his gold and red tie.

Duo was not as careful; the knot in his tie was sloppy and lopsided, several inches away from even touching the column of his throat. He left the first two buttons of his shirt unfastened, neglected to tuck his shirt into his trousers, and threw a black robe over the disorderly state of his uniform as if to hide it from anyone who might care.

They met Hermione in the common room and hurried straight to the Great Hall from there, all hoping to get an early start on the day. As promised, Hermione helped Duo branch the convoluted Transfiguration theory behind Inanimate to Animate: Soul or No Soul? As soon as Hermione said her piece, the American quickly penned out the end of his assignment before taking so much as one bite of food.

Once he was finished writing, he blindly reached out with his left hand and grabbed a blueberry muffin off the table. Pen still in his right hand, he absently began sketching an intricate transmutation circle he had seen on an anime once. He ate his warm muffin as he doodled and only looked up when he heard the morning post arrive. He promptly put his homework away and attended to the envelopes that had fallen in a stack on his unused plate.

One was a tersely coded message from Wufei that implied they needed to regroup soon; no doubt the Ravenclaw had heard the news. Another was a slightly longer coded message from Quatre that suggested they meet and discuss their options.

He was finally going to be able to sit down with all of his comrades; if anything, that was one good thing that came from the disaster surrounding the new player on the political front. Since finding Ravenclaw's Library and unveiling his heritage, Duo had been spending almost all of his quality time with Lady Ravenclaw and his fellow Gryffindors. Heero made the effort to visit or steal a moment of Duo's personal time, which the American fully appreciated in an indecently physical manner. The rest of his comrades focused on their separate tasks and cultivated ties to the wizarding world. They were unfortunately very familiar with separation for the sake of the mission goal, though Duo truly longed for the time they were free to gather without rousing suspicion. Thankfully, they had many of their classes together, so they weren't completely cut off from each other.

He slipped the two letters into the front pocket of his satchel, covertly and quietly casting a spell to erase the ink on the parchment.

It was the last two letters that came to him as a surprise. One was a missive from Sirius, simply requesting that Duo meet him in the DADA classroom after his last class for the day to discuss an extra-curricular assignment. The other was from Trelawney, of all people, asking him to meet her in the Divination Tower during his free period.

"What the hell!" Duo cried incredulously, parchment folding under his tightened grip. "I don't even _take_ Divinations!"

"Eh?" Ron said around a mouthful of sausage, giving the American a puzzled look.

"Trelawney wants me to see her during my free period," Duo bemoaned sadly. "I haven't seen Bottle Bottoms since the end of my summer at Hogwarts, and that was because I declined to continue Divinations lessons." The braided boy shook his head with a wry snort. "'Lawney is nuttier than a fruitcake."

"Figured that out, did you?" Hermione murmured coolly, her eyes drilling into the side of Ron's head.

"My schedule," Ron said unaffectedly. "I can do what I want with it." Then he stuffed the last half of his sausage link in his mouth and chewed enthusiastically.

"You're not going, are you?" Harry asked, giving the letter a wary look.

Duo shrugged, haphazardly folding the sheet of parchment into a square before he stuffed it in the inner pocket of his robes. "I guess I'll humor her. She didn't write why she wanted to see me, either, and I've always been too curious for my own good. Ooh, pass me some of those yummy sugary pastries."

Hermione tsked, but refrained from commenting about what the sugar would do to his teeth as Harry casually levitated a pastry onto Duo's plate. After a heartfelt word of gratitude, the American neatly devoured the pastry, occasionally partaking his coffee in timed intervals.

Directly after breakfast was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Sirius Call-Me-Sir-Black-or-Sirius-Depending-On-How-Much-I-Like-You, which was quickly becoming both the most liked and the most hated class at Hogwarts. DADA with Sirius was intriguing, informative, and relied heavily on demonstration. There were a number of occasions that Sirius merely had them duel while periodically rotating partners, which lasted nearly the entire class. Fortunately for them, Zechs would hold a lecture and have his assistant demonstrate something potentially dangerous instead of having them exercise.

Sirius also had the tendency to frequently prank his students while barking out "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" in a gruff, menacing tone, though his eyes betrayed his merry amusement. Students learned to check their desks before sitting down, watch Sirius closely as he moved about the classroom, and investigate their property and their persons before leaving the classroom.

Today's lecture started off as review for the midterm exams scheduled for Monday. Once he was satisfied with their grasp of the material, he immediately launched into an introduction course to what they would be going over as soon as they returned from winter break.

"Silent spell casting," Sirius announced grandly to the seventh years. "Sixth year material, unfortunately, but it'll catch you up for your NEWTs. Unlike wandless or accidental magic, which is usually chaotic and rare after puberty hits, silently casting spells is completely feasible, depending on the circumstances. You are either A) talented, B) good with certain categories of spells, or C) incapable as far as silent spell casting goes."

Duo's hand shot up, derailing Sirius' lecture. "Let's say you're still displaying bouts of accidental magic well after puberty. What kind of implications would that have?"

"That question is probably better suited for Professor Flitwick," Sirius replied slowly. "Or even Madame Pomfrey, for that matter. By my reckoning, displays of accidental magic after puberty is exceedingly rare and are likely triggered by an emotional overload. At your age, it could possibly be attributed to a strong magical core, lack of control, childhood climate and upbringing, or a combination thereof."

Once Duo leaned back in his seat with a contemplative look on his face, Sirius turned back to his lecture. "Silent spell casting is easy enough in theory, but it is the practical part that's the trick. The ability is also extremely advantageous in a duel. Observe."

In the blink of an eye, Sirius had turned on his heels, wand up and pointed at Wufei. There was little time to register the movement Sirius executed neatly with his wand, no sound passing his lips as a red spell exploded out of the end of his wand.

Wufei reflexively leaped to his feet in a defensive crouch, wand out and voice bellowing, "Protego!"

Sirius easily sidestepped the rebounded spell, beaming at the irritated Asian boy before he announced, "Fantastic reflexes, Chang Wufei, well done! Ten points to Ravenclaw," he rewarded promptly, favoring Wufei with a conspicuous wink, "though I would have been even more impressed if you had managed to shield silently. That is, after all, the lesson objective.

Did anybody place what spell I attempted to cast at Wufei?" the man asked the rest of the class.

"It was Stupefy," Duo piped, having memorized and practiced the wand movements for the more useful spells religiously.

"Yes, thank you, five points to Gryffindor," Sirius rolled off. "I want all of you -you, too, Duo Maxwell, you can't avoid the dueling practices forever -to pair up and try to silently cast spells at one another." Before the students could pull away from the desks and move onto the matt, Sirius Black gave them all a spine-chilling grin.

"I know how tempting falling back on verbal spell casting is," he announced, tone almost soothing compared with the very real wicked glee that shined in his dark eyes. "Therefore, I have taken the liberty of casting a silencing spell on all of you. I suggest you try to cast the counter spell on each other, or the professor for your next class will have to do it for you."

Despite the dead silence, Harry could almost hear many of his classmates groan despondently and try to protest Sirius' decision. The DADA professor stared resolutely at them before he extended his index finger towards the matt.

"You know very well that I can do no such thing," Zechs said stoutly from his seated position at the very back of the room, previously silent and observing.

Sirius smile was completely transparent. "At least they'll be quiet during Muggle Defense."

While the seventh years set to work attempting to cancel out the silencing spells cast over them, Sirius zigzagged his way between the pairs, offering helpful suggestions and goofy words of encouragement. Harry managed to counter the spell on his fourth attempt, followed closely by Draco and Wufei, much to their surprise. Wufei and Draco looked pleased with themselves for their accomplishments while Harry tried to pretend he hadn't done anything noteworthy, and Sirius awarded the three of them twenty points each.

Duo was quick to grasp the concept, only his successful effort was managed when he threw a silent hex at Draco, who began laughing uncontrollably on his way back to his seat. Surprised, Duo just as easily Finite'd the silencing spell on himself with no ill aftereffects.

The American didn't rely on magic as heavily as most wizards because his spells had a propensity of blowing up in his face. If he had actually thought trying to cast a spell on Draco was going to work, he would have instantly reconsidered his actions. However, he actually found it much easier to use magic without speaking, and the results of his spell casting were far more favorable than usual.

"Sweet!" Duo proclaimed loudly, grinning from ear to ear. Sirius cranked his head the second he heard Duo speak over Draco's inexplicable fit of laughter, only to see the American beam back at him triumphantly.

Duo announced proudly, "And I didn't even accidentally kill anyone!" Sirius was taken aback by the unexpected declaration, speechless and blinking at the boy in befuddlement. Surely Duo's control wasn't that bad...

Draco, doing his best to resist laughing (and failing spectacularly), gasped out between laughter, "Cancel the spell, you prat!" The blond was barely coherent as he tried to get the words out, so obviously he couldn't cast Finite on himself without risking a magical backfire. The American cast the dispelling charm silently, prompting the blond's laughter to peter off into hiccups. Upon seeing his success, the Gryffindor threw his head back and laughed triumphantly while the Slytherin glared balefully at him.

"Duo," Quatre chided unexpectedly. Apparently he had overcome his handicap with just as much ease as his friends. "You haven't had any fluxes in your magic for some time. Is it so hard to believe you would eventually improve?"

"Enough of that," Draco snapped grumpily, crossing his arms and glaring at the American. "The tawdry deviant could have shattered my skeletal structure with that stunt!"

"Like what happened to the squirrel," Wufei added gravely.

"He didn't," Trowa pointed out evenly.

"Hn," Heero grunted, standing behind his excited boyfriend.

Sirius was flabbergasted. Though silent spell casting was considered a pinnacle of magical control, few were able to accomplish it. The head of the Black Family honestly had not expected more than a handful to succeed. "Did _all_ of you manage to silently cast magic?"

"It really wasn't that hard," Duo said cheerfully. "Actually, it's a lot easier than verbal spell casting."

"Um..." came a timid reply, all eyes turning to the source of the noise. Susan Bones normally animate face was slack, skin ashen as she stared back at the men lackadaisically. "I feel dizzy..."

Sirius went to her side to encourage her to sit on the floor; more and more students were beginning to speak up until almost half of the seventh year Defense Against the Dark Arts class regained the ability to speak. Some of them, like Bones, were left feeling unwell -they complained of headaches, nausea, and dizziness, all symptoms of which passed by the end of DADA, along with over three-fourths of the seventh years.

Sirius watched the students expressionlessly as they shuffled about the room, visiting with each other in their spare time before Muggle Defense. The prefects were kind enough to come to the aid of those who had not accomplished the task.

Remus had informed him that the chances of the seventh years proving sufficient in silent spell casting was slim, given two or three special cases. The subject was sixth year material, but their former Defense teacher had been annoyingly incompetent. Sirius could almost rationalize the statistical impossibility by thinking that the seventh years' magical prowess had matured well enough for the lesson to come easily to them... but somehow, Sirius didn't think that was the case.

Zechs Marquise left his perch in the back to approach Heero, Quatre, Wufei, and Trowa as they were leaving the classroom. Duo lingered near the front of the classroom, already bored and looking as if he would rather be anywhere else.

"I need one of you to stay," Zechs informed them in a low murmur. "Preferably Yuy."

Heero glanced around Zechs, catching Duo's eyes with his. The American's head was tilted at an angle, a gleam of curiosity in his violet-hued eyes. He didn't look at Zechs when he nodded in agreement, though he did acknowledge his friends when they bid him goodbye.

The beaming smile on Duo's face when he realized Heero would be staying was apparently contagious, as the Japanese youth could not help but to return it with a small, reserved version of a smile.

"Stay here," Zechs said shortly, motioning for Duo to join Heero before he left them standing in the doorway to talk to Sirius for a moment. The wizard was startled out of his pondering, but once the platinum-haired muggle said his piece, the black-haired man nodded in agreement.

"What do you think that's all about?" Duo murmured when he joined Heero at the door, head craned in the two teachers' direction.

Heero didn't reply as Zechs cut his way across the classroom, sparing the two Gundam pilots peculiar glances before he left through the doorway. Exchanging silent glances, Duo and Heero followed right after him. He didn't take them far, stopping at a wooden door five rooms away and around the corner from the Defense classroom. He unlocked the door with an old key pulled from his pocket, and the interior of the room lit up the moment he opened the door.

Along the far end of the wall were unusually large trunks, all of which were lined up neatly and out of the way. Three of the trunks were pure ebony with green trimming. The fourth, positioned at the very end of the line, was a warm golden amber with red trimming.

"I need help moving these outside," Zechs announced, already moving over to pick up one of the trunks himself. "Leave the fourth trunk. That's for next semester."

"Just let us do it," Duo said, raising his wand and casting a charm on two of the trunks, both of which obediently lifted off of the ground and floated closer to him. Heero charmed the last trunk and stared at Zechs blankly.

"Lazy wizards," Zechs said to himself, purposefully ignoring the malefic twin looks of indignity on the two boys' faces. He swept out of the room without looking at the Gundam pilots, forcing Heero and Duo to follow.

"What's all this about, anyway?" Duo asked sullenly. "Not that I mind getting to work with Hee-chan today, but you didn't mention anything about this when I asked about today's lesson."

"These came in earlier than expected," Zechs replied without turning around. "I expected Lady Une to have trouble getting permission to transport this much munitions, but it seems I was mistaken. I'm wondering now if I could have risked not ordering the ammunition in bulk."

That offhand comment threw Duo off balance for a moment before he managed to right himself again, blurting excitedly, "Dude, you got us _candy_?"

Zechs frowned, looking questioningly at the American jogging to match his long stride, trunks obediently following three feet behind. Then the man turned his eyes to Heero, on the other side of him. The Japanese youth looked eerily pleased with the development, enough so that Zechs asked flatly, "Candy?"

"Duo's code for weaponry," Heero replied monotonously, eyes still facing forward. "What kind of artillery and how much ammo did you get?"

Zechs told him. Heero couldn't help but to look impressed.

"_Three_ AK-47s?" Duo repeated with enthusiasm that sent lancing lines of uncertainty down his spine. "Two Uzis? And _grenades_! You brought me grenades!" Now the boy was bouncing in his step. Maybe he should have saved the practical demonstration of muggle firearms for another day...

----------

He had searched everywhere for Quatre.

He looked in the library first. No Quatre, but he did find Wufei and his friend, Mandy Brocklehurst. Absently, he thought that for someone who was vehemently against women joining him in battle, Wufei was amazingly quick to befriend the fairer sex when it involved the non-combatant areas in his life.

Both heads came up when he approached their table. While Brocklehurst looked faintly curious by the quiet Slytherin's approach, Wufei maintained an unaffected veneer.

Trowa gave both of them a quiet nod of greeting before he asked, "Have either of you seen Quatre?"

"Not since Transfiguration," Wufei replied. "Why?" His eyes spoke volumes for how vague his question had been. With Mandy next to him, he couldn't very well ask if Trowa suspected something foul was afoot.

"Care of Magical Creatures was canceled," Trowa said, particularly unaffected when Hagrid announced -in a fretting, tearful voice -that the venomous doxies he was to be introducing to the class were experiencing a minor flu epidemic. He canceled class because he had to take care of the sick doxies, and Trowa wasn't against letting the half-giant carry on with his self-appointed task as long as Trowa wasn't asked to help.

Fortunately, Hagrid had informed him that Quatre had already been by and was aware of the news, all the while dabbing at the corners of his squinty black eyes with a dirty, oversized hanky. Quatre stayed only long enough to express his concern over the sick doxies, as well as Hagrid, who wasn't taking it very well. The Gamekeeper assured Quatre he was going to do his best to nurse the little guys back to health, and the blond left with a smile after that.

Unfortunately, the kindhearted blond wandered off without telling Hagrid what he was intending to do with his spare time. Trowa had to wonder if that had been on purpose, somehow.

"Hn," Wufei grunted, expression thoughtfully pensive. "I think he mentioned something about spending time with Maxwell when he got the chance." The Hufflepuff likely wished to see how Duo was holding up under the political microscope _before_ coaxing out of him a time and date for a meeting.

Given a new lead to follow, Trowa nodded again and quietly murmured a word of gratitude before he turned on his heels and made a beeline for the exit, though not before he heard Mandy say casually, "That Barton's a man a few words, eh?"

"What little he says is more than sufficient," said Wufei succinctly. "Quality over quantity, Brocklehurst." An admission like that from Wufei was tantamount to the Chang stamp of approval, of which Trowa felt both honored and humbled that his friend thought so highly of him. Then again, there had never been much doubt about Wufei's loyalties, even if he refused to address his companions by their given names.

If there was anymore said about him after that, Trowa didn't hear it as he departed from the library. It didn't take him very long to find Duo; more appropriately, Duo found _him_ just as the American came barreling down the winding steps that led up to the Divination Tower, fighting with a crystal orb that he was attempting to wrestle into his satchel.

"Whoa!" Duo exclaimed, stepping aside just in time to miss walking straight into Trowa. He recovered quickly and grinned at the tall brunet just as he finished buckling the flap on his satchel. "Hey, Tro, what's happenin'?"

Trowa's eyes were irresistibly drawn to Duo's bag. "Duo," he murmured, "did you just stuff a crystal ball in your satchel?"

"Um," the American started, "maybe?" Going by the fact the answer sounded suspiciously like a question, Trowa surmised that Duo was trying -and failing -to be evasive. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be in CoMC?"

"Class was cancelled," he explained, generously allowing Duo to change the subject. "Have you seen Quatre?"

"Nope. Oh, wait," Duo backpedaled quickly, looking up in thought. "I saw him heading off toward the greenhouses with a couple of his Hufflepuff friends about fifteen minutes ago. I thought about following him, but seeing as the greenhouses were his destination, I decided against it. Sprout starts spazzing when I'm around her precious greenhouses."

Trowa nodded, pleased. At least he had visual confirmation regarding Quatre's whereabouts this time. "Thanks."

"No prob," Duo volleyed offhandedly, adjusting the strap of his satchel on his shoulder. "Hey, I have a meeting with Sirius in a few minutes, but if you find Quatre, ask him if he feels like hanging out before dinner, around 1615 maybe? We haven't had a powwow in ages. I'll even sniff out Hee-chan and Wuffers and drag them along, too."

"Sure," Trowa agreed. "Wufei's in the school library, by the way."

"Of course he is," Duo said dryly. "Because Wuwu has an incurable book fetish. Meet you at the usual?"

"We'll be there," Trowa promised, turning to leave. He didn't make it three steps before a thought struck him by surprise. "Duo?"

The American, having turned to head toward the opposite direction, stopped in his tracks and glanced back at the taller boy questioningly. "Yeah?"

"Did you steal Trelawney's crystal ball?"

"Liberated," Duo corrected him staunchly. "I liberated Trelawney's crystal ball. I replaced it with one of her spares -she'll never notice."

"Then why bother?" the Slytherin asked.

"I thought I saw something," Duo admitted. "I just want to make sure my mind isn't playing tricks on me. I'll put it back when I'm satisfied."

"And if Trelawney does notice that her crystal ball has been switched with a substitute?" Trowa asked.

Duo's mouth ticked into an amused smirk. "That meltdown might be fun to watch."

Trowa was still chuckling to himself when he walked out of the school. He wrapped his green and silver striped scarf tightly around his neck to fight away the evening chill, his pace never halting as he took the stairs. He was barely halfway down the stone steps when he was fortunate enough to come across a group of seventh year Hufflepuffs heading in the direction from which he just came. They were talking excitedly, too absorbed in the topic to notice Trowa had stopped to wait for them.

Unfortunately, Quatre was not among them.

"Bones," Trowa said quietly, startling not only Susan, but Justin and Hannah as well. The girl gave him an odd look that he politely ignored. "Do you know where Quatre is?"

The three Hufflepuffs exchanged glances. "Uh, yeah," Susan said hesitantly, pointing in the distance. "He volunteered to tend to the Whomping Willow for Professor Sprout..."

"Thank you," Trowa murmured, nodding his head once before he continued down the steps, turning towards the distant Willow the moment the earth was under his soles. He was distantly aware of Susan Bones informing her friends that she would see them later in the evening.

"Barton, wait!" she called after him, trainers already tapping down the stairs. Trowa stopped, craning his neck far enough to the left to sufficiently watch the Hufflepuff approach him at a jog, stopping short three feet behind him.

When the girl just stared back at him, Trowa prompted evenly, "Is there something you wanted, Bones?"

The girl had a little trouble maintaining direct eye contact for a moment before she firmed her stance and said politely, "I don't mean to intrude, but do you mind if I go with you to see Quatre?"

Trowa shifted his stance, half turning his body to relieve the strain on his neck. He contemplated over what he knew of Susan Bones, which was information primarily provided by his boyfriend. She was the niece of Madame Amelia Bones, who held a budding interest in Heero and Wufei. Susan was quiet, though she easily befriended people she had a good feeling about. She was prone to curiosity and often chose to act on it. The only time she ever asked Quatre about him was an inquiry into what kind of person Trowa was.

The chances of Susan Bones having a crush on him were not very high. Trowa nodded his acceptance before he happened to spot Heero watching him silently from over the stone railing of the main entrance. "One moment, Bones."

He was aware of the girl's eyes on him as he moved his hands into a series of handsigns, the first being both of his hands together as if to pray; then he held up both fists, flashing one finger, than six, one again, and finally, five. Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Heero nodded curtly, turning on his heel and going back into the school. Message relayed, Trowa turned back to the staring girl, inclining his head toward their destination. "Shall we?"

Trowa started walking once more, and Susan fell in step beside him the moment he moved to pass her. She didn't walk too close to him, keeping a respectable meter between them. Trowa noticed that she often sneaked glances at him, though she didn't say anything.

"Is there something you wish to ask me?" Trowa asked bluntly. Susan visibly startled, blinking rapidly at Trowa for a moment before she turned her eyes back to where she was walking.

"Just curious," Susan murmured.

"Curious," Trowa echoed. "About what?"

"Well," the girl said slowly, brow furrowed in thought. "You don't really talk much, right? Not to Hufflepuffs, anyway, and usually only when Quatre's around. And you're Slytherin, so you are a bit intimidating by default. But Quatre adores you -talks about you frequently, never says a cross word about you, he just seems content, you know?" She scratched the side of her nose delicately. "Quatre's my friend, so naturally I want to know more about my friend's significant other. I mean, nobody has outright said anything, but everyone is aware that the two of you are an item. You don't exactly go out of your way to keep it secret."

"Ah," Trowa said simply. "What would you like to know?"

"General stuff," Susan said helpfully. "Like, um... Well, how did you and Quatre first meet?"

"Hm." Trowa tilted his head silently; of course, he couldn't tell Susan the whole story, but an heavily edited version might sedate the girl's curiosity. "Quatre was trying to talk a group of heavily armed muggles out of trying to kill him. I stepped in to offer a helping hand."

His answer seemed to surprise the girl. "Really? Because when I look at Quatre, I don't see someone who has been in very many life or death situations."

Amused, Trowa chuckled at Susan's comment.

"What?" the girl asked him, baffled. "What did I say?"

"It's not important," Trowa assured her. The girl stared at him and opened her mouth to persist, but movement out of her peripheral vision stopped her, both verbally and physically. She stared at the distant Whomping Willow with incredibly wide, honey brown eyes.

"It's still moving," she said dazedly, confused as she looked around, vainly peering through the long, drooping branches for a sign of her blond house mate. "I know he has some kind of calming influence on the Willow, but he can't possibly tend to it while it's moving..."

"Why?" Trowa inquired.

"Because the Willow gets agitated when someone tries to maintain the undergrowth," Susan explained. "Professor Sprout rewards us points and extra credit if we help out in the greenhouses and the gardens. The Whomping Willow rarely appears on the list; it's restricted to sixth and seventh years and comes with explicit instructions on how to immobilize the Willow. The task is worth fifty house points and a full test grade."

Trowa stared mutely at her for a moment before he finally spoke. "I've never heard anything about a list."

Susan's shoulders drooped. "Ehm, well..."

"Ah," Trowa said knowingly, slanting the girl a sideways glance. "Admirable."

She blinked, taken aback. "Professor Sprout pins up a to-do list on the house bulletin, goes far enough to offer extra class credit, and neglects to provide the other three houses with a copy of her list. How is that admirable?"

"You help your teacher maintain the gardens and greenhouses and earn points and credit through hard work," Trowa replied stoically. "Diligence and hard work is the Hufflepuff creed, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what-"

"So it is admirable that Professor Sprout teaches her industrious house that hard work reaps great benefits," Trowa concluded seamlessly.

The girl's stared at him for a long time, silent and unmoving. They were still a dozen yards away from the Willow, but Susan Bones was content to scrutinize him, as if she were mentally grading him... though Trowa was at a loss as to why.

"Oh," she said, finally moving forward once more. "Thanks," she added sincerely, beaming at him. Trowa couldn't shake the feeling that he had just been tested, though he suspected that he had supplied a favorable response.

----------

When Duo waltzed up to the open door of the DADA classroom, Sirius was frantically shifting through the neglected scrolls of homework and loose bits of parchment piled on top of his desk. The man either didn't notice some of the scrolls roll of his desk and the parchment fluttering to the stone floor, or he didn't care. Sirius was mumbling so lowly that Duo only caught half of what the man was saying; none of it made very much sense.

"... steal Moony's day planner... anal-retentiveness contagious?..." Pick up a piece of parchment, scanned it briefly, tossed it over his shoulder with a huffy snort, "Damn nattering cows..."

A stack of scrolls was summarily disrupted and the majority tumbled to the floor and rolled in every which way. Sirius made no move to even pretend he'd noticed, much to Duo's personal amusement. _Sirius Black's desk: where homework goes to die_.

Duo withheld his laughter... barely. "You wanted to see me?" he drawled cheerfully after knocking jauntily on the doorframe to announce his arrival.

Sirius jolted as if he'd been stung, but slumped again when a brief glance confirmed the identity of the intruder. "Oh, good, you're here. Go ahead and shut the door behind you."

"Hey, it's your reputation, man," Duo said with a perverted grin, using his heel to prod the door closed behind him before he jogged the length of the classroom.

Sirius didn't respond; instead, he went right back to rifling through his desk looking for whatever elusive object he needed. He was just moving on to shifting through the drawers in his search when he belatedly murmured, "I'll be with you in a mo'."

"Take your time," Duo mumbled, putting his bag on the chair of a desk a little more forcefully than he had intended. He winced when he heard the crystal ball crack sharply against the wooden seat, and only a thick lining of cloth between the two. He checked to see if Sirius noticed the unusual sound, but the eighth consecutive DADA professor was still absorbed in his search. It didn't sound like the crystal ball broke, but he couldn't guarantee that it was not cracked. _Oops_.

He soon lost interest in what Sirius was looking for and moved his eyes to the nearest existential point of interest. The bookcase standing just inside the DADA teacher's inner office, for example. A lot of fun to be had there -after all, who could go wrong with titles like _1001 Guidelines for the Aspiring Prankster _by Orion White, _The Illusionists' Bible _by Precilla Prine, and_ The Call of Nature: Path of the Animagi _by Thaddeus Bourgeois.(3)

It was that last one especially that caught his attention. Wufei had inquired about buying a guide to becoming an Animagus, only to become disenchanted with the idea when Mandy explained that any book intent on aiding a wizard or witch in becoming an Animagus would be on the Ministry's restricted list. They would have to buy a permit and sign a contract declaring an intent to register within six months of the first successful transformation. During registration, the Animagus was obligated to transform and allow Ministry employees to document any telling markings or traits. Mandy had heard rumor that they would even create a perfect dental mold of an Animagus whose form happened to be a larger predator.

Sirius, on the other hand, had at one time been an unregistered Animagus. After his ability was revealed at his appeal, he had been found guilty of neglecting to register; it was decided his punishment for his crime had long ago been rendered, so he didn't have to do community service. He did, however, have to eventually register, much to the former convict's great reluctance.

The only way the Ministry could have been ignorant of Sirius Black's Animagus form for over a decade and a half was if one of the Marauders managed to get his hands on the text without going through the traditional channels. The Ministry had also forgotten to inquire too heavily in how Sirius Black had achieved his status as an Animagus under their noses, so of course the man would keep it dwarfed between two thick volumes that encouraged mischief.

To Duo, it was like a large neon sign that was ordering him to stuff the small, worn book down his trousers and pretend he wasn't trying to make off with one of his teacher's books. Still, the American had a healthy respect for the man, so the least he could do was try to make his intentions legit.

"Interesting literary collection, Prof," Duo drawled, standing under the threshold of the office. "I'm kind of jealous right now."

The man paused his hunt long enough to give Duo a solemn look. "And right you should be," Sirius said staunchly. "That's almost a decade's worth of research and material every professional prankster could ever need, from basics for beginners all the way to the really fun stuff."

"Can I borrow the books that lead to the fun stuff?" Duo asked, smilingly in a non-fiendish manner.

Sirius waved the question off and returned to his search. "Have at it. Just remember to bring them back."

Duo dove into the office and grabbed several promising titles, careful to slip the slender Animagus text between the thicker books. He sauntered casually to his satchel and tried to stuff his bounty inside; the crystal ball and a small collection of his school things impeded him, but removing his Potions text fixed the problem.

"Hah," Sirius barked loudly, triumphantly holding a stained, rolled up scroll of parchment in one fist. He immediately unraveled it, scanning over the contents before he muttered, "I knew it. Maybe I should try it with the fifth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors after break...?"

"Try what?" Duo piped curiously, instantly reminding the man that he was not the only one present.

"Just a little experiment," Sirius said unassumingly, though mischievous grin settled across his weathered face.

"Uh-huh," Duo said slowly, walking closer to the front of the room. He paused at the edge of the safety mat to insouciantly inspect the rattling trunk that sat in the center. He tilted his head to the side speculatively for a moment before he slanted a suspicious gaze towards Harry's godfather. "God, I hope you weren't taking me seriously when I told you that true friends help you hide the body."

Sirius blinked, taken aback by the unexpected turn in the conversation. He glanced at the boy in bafflement before saying, "What? No. Well, maybe," he amended with a smirk. "But that's not the case here." That said, he kicked the rattling trunk vindictively. "There's a boggart in here."

Duo appeared displeased by Sirius' announcement. Facing a boggart in the presence of another was strictly forbidden, as far as he was concerned. It left too much about his secret fears exposed, and had the potential of being used against him later. "I already know how to repel a boggart." He crossed his arms with a stubborn frown on his face. "Can I go now?"

Belatedly, Sirius realized just how difficult this was turning out for him. "Don't be an idiot; I wouldn't dream of someone like you deliberately revealing your deepest, darkest fear to just anyone." Hell, the American had shown enough reservations about Sirius knowing his most well-protected _secret_. Asking the boy to reveal his fear would have been pushing it. "I, on the other hand, have no problem revealing mine in private, which is exactly why I want to test this out during Yule break." He paused, frowning slightly. "You are staying for Yule, aren't you?"

"For the most of it," the kid murmured absently, but didn't go into any detail. Duo raised his eyebrows in keen interest, the lingering frost in his demeanor rapidly melting. "Okay. You've officially got my attention. What's up?"

_I love fishing_, Sirius thought rather smugly. _Hook, bait, cast off, and reel him in... it's too easy._ "I'm fascinated by that nifty little dementor-killing move of yours," Sirius said aloud, grinning. "I bloody despise dementors. The fact that you can kill them encourages me to like you more than I already do, though I can't fathom how it's possible. I want to see if you can do it again."

And if he could, Duo would be Sirius' new friend for life... second only to Remus, of course.

"Uh-huh," Duo said with a suspicious frown. "Are you even sure it will work on a fake dementor?"

Damn. Sirius winced before grudgingly admitting, "Not really, but it's worth a shot. I mean, in theory, a boggart physically turns into what frightens one the most. A boggart-dementor can still suck out your soul. Still, it might just be different enough to make this all a moot point." With a shrug, he added, "But you can try, right?"

"Hm," Duo mused, a finger tapping his chin lightly. Then, with a slow grin, he held up that finger pointedly. "One condition: you teach me the Patronus Charm."

"That's on the syllabus," Sirius pointed out, giving Duo an odd look. "What's the point of learning something now that you'll learn about in February?" Not to mention that Duo could _kill_ dementors, which defeated the purpose of learning how to repel them.

"I want to learn it now," Duo replied patiently, pulling his shoulders back and giving the ex-con a mulish stare.

The boy obviously wasn't going to back down on this. He was secretly pleased by this bargain; even though he had no intention of forcing the boggart to shift into a shape that would frighten Duo, he was curious to see what shape Duo's magic would chose to guard him from dementors. A wizard's Patronus told just as much about the individual as his fears.

With a shrug, Sirius replied nonchalantly, "Can't argue with that. If you show me you can repeat whatever it is that you did, I'll instruct you on the Patronus Charm. Mind you," he added knowingly, "people rarely catch on to the Patronus Charm the first time around, so it might take a while."

"I'm a quick study," Duo replied confidently. "I'll be conspicuously busy for the first week of winter break, but my schedule is open afterwards. How about we schedule for the day after Christmas?"

"Sounds good to me," Sirius agreed, bemused.

"Cool," Duo said, smiling thankfully. "And it's not really a bad idea, seeing if I can do an encore. I've been trying by myself, but I've had no luck. Thanks for the help."

"You're graciously welcome, brat," Sirius responded, smirking wryly when the boy tossed a wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

_**END CHAPTER NINETEEN**_

* * *

**(1) One of my new favorite curses. I may have made it up because I've never heard anyone else say it. Yeah, I know -I have a filthy mouth. :**_**can't quite muster the proper amount of shame**_**: One of my older brothers tried to wash it out with soap once, but I ended up biting the bar in half and accidentally swallowed it. Ever think about eating soap before? Don't. You'll puke everywhere, and brothers are evil enough to make you clean it up... no matter how firmly you maintain that you throwing up was all **_**his**_** fault.**

**(2) Since posting, I've had the sinking suspicion that Harry's already revealed that to Ron within either this story or the prequel. If I did, please point out my stupidity and I'll properly adjust the scene. :sheepish grin: I tried to look for it, but I haven't found it happening yet... maybe it's just because I wrote that ages ago?... :shrugs:**

**(3) Bourgeois -the spelling is nothing like this name is pronounced. The name Bourgeois is French in origin and is pronounced "Boo-jhwaa." It is a fairly common name in South Louisiana, and I made several attempts to pronounce this name when I first started working. My attempts were laughable, at best. :sheepish grin: I really like the name, though, so that should explain how it worked its way into the story. And Now You Know.**

A lot of people voiced a desire to see more of Quatre, Trowa, and Wufei, all of whom I have been neglecting in favor of Duo, sometimes Heero, and the crew of the Hpverse. I completely agree -our boys need some attention. There's going to be a nice juicy bit of them in the next chapter. I hope you will stick around for it. :grins and winks:

Thanks for reading! And please take the time to review.


	20. Scheming

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Life is strange. One moment, everything is hunky-dory and spiff-tastic and every other made-up adjective expressing positive results known to man. (This era is like a distant dream or a pleasant hallucination, but a part of me acknowledges that it was once so.) Then everything goes to shit and, ta-daaa! Eight months flies by in a blur until a number of persistent readers poke and poke and poke just to make sure I'm alive and still interested in updating.

God bless you poor few, and my most profound apologies for promising and promising without actually delivering. :is humble:

Aside from that, sorry it's taken me a decade to update. Frankly, I'm shocked anyone bothers to read HpatFH anymore, but maybe that's just me and my current (and hopefully temporary) maudlin perspective. Cheers to you, the faithful readers.

Onward. :promptly skips off to Vegas for a well deserved vacation:

* * *

_**Harry Potter and the Forgotten Heirs  
Capricious Purple Clarity  
Chapter Twenty**_

* * *

_Existence is a spectacular marvel_.

There was nothing that could match the wonder Quatre held for this world of magic neatly tucked away from the rest of the Earth and beyond. The root of every fairytale, the source of legends, an energy that defied logic -and a people capable of controlling said energy reflecting just that. Illogic. Charmingly so, and not applicable regarding a portion of the denizens of the magical world. But the seed was in the heart of every witch and wizard, taking root in soul and mind, and drew parallels between a wizard's inherent lack of logic and the source of their existence.

In the end, most wizards were clever enough to cope without a concept of logic in certain aspects of culture or thought-processing. In every aspect of a wizard's life, there existed a spell or charm or hex created for the specific purpose of overcoming otherwise unsurmountable situations; though at times, when he compared how wizards accomplished things opposed to the muggle way of achieving the same goal (and taking his own muggle upbringing into account), wizarding solutions often befuddled him. That alone was just one of the many reasons Quatre embraced the wizarding community with enthusiasm. It was a refreshing reminder that there was much more to life than what science and technology could explain and resolve.

The muggle world, while mundane to some, was far from ordinary. Every day technology improved and expanded; every day, science dared to test the limits of human comprehension. Yet magic in all its numerous forms, living and inanimate alike, proved that life was capable without technology and catapulted reality (or the lack thereof) far beyond comprehension in every sense of the word.

Take trees, for example. In reality, it was impossible for a human being to perceive the emotional consciousness of normal, non-magical plant-life. In the wizarding world, this general rule of thumb was nonexistent. The roots of a mandrake closely resembled humans, from adolescence to adulthood; mandrakes even experienced the embarrassing acne during puberty. Despite similarities to human growing traits, mandrakes were clearly a species of plant. It takes them less than a year to fully mature and they reproduce by spores.

Quatre was enraptured by the kinds of magical plants that existed in the covert world of wizards; none captured his fascination more so than the Whomping Willow, which was more than just a territorial tree. Much more.

The Willow's perception extended meters beyond her underground roots system, spread farther than her branches could reach. She was territorial not because of her nature, but because she felt as if she were constantly under attack by those not anchored to the ground. Sometimes Quatre had flashes of insight when he was in direct contact with her -more emotions than images, though there were so many perceptions being given to him that he could almost see her memories. Young "two-roots" darting tauntingly within and out of her reach, swinging sticks and throwing rocks. Other young two-roots and a fair number of older two-roots that knew her weakness and savagely took advantage of it. Each time her entire being would grow stiff with a sensation that could only be described as pain before numb nothingness overcame her. The nothingness was frightening and sorrowful and agonizing.

To the Willow, stillness felt like death. Temporary, but utterly undesirable. It was because of her vehement resistance to the stillness that her branches always swayed even without the presence of wind. It was a show of vibrance, defiance, and sturdy solitude.

Snow had fallen on the Scottish countryside early in November and had already melted, leaving the ground wet and frozen. More snow was soon to come, but the Willow had experienced the worst weather conditions with little trouble. Quatre's task was to pull the dead creeping vines from the base of her trunk and, in doing so, he projected emotions to her as he busied himself with maintaining her continued good health. As always, she was skittish when he worked around the knob that froze her, but she relaxed when Quatre contrived nothing but good intentions and soothing serenity and projected those emotions to her.

He was almost done when he felt her reach out to him once more, as she had done many times before. Two-roots were approaching -two of them, one whose step was quick and light and walked like a female; another whose footsteps were solid yet subtle with a assured gait. Both were familiar to the Willow.

Almost a minute passed before Quatre heard voices approaching.

"-industrious house that hard work reaps great benefits."

"Oh... Thanks!"

Quatre absently gave the trunk of the Willow a comforting caress before he moved away, only partially aware when the branches of the Willow parted for him. He beamed at his visitors.

"Trowa, you found me!" he exclaimed warmly.

"You didn't make it easy," replied Trowa, not unkindly, "but I managed."

Quatre's brow furrowed in thought before he realized he hadn't told anyone what he had been planning to do with his unexpected free time. Cheeks pinked slightly at his faux pas, he amended sheepishly, "This proves you're talented and persistent when searching for someone, at least."

Quatre gave his house mate a welcoming look. "Hi, Susan."

"Hey, Quatre," Susan greeted back, matching the blond's smile. "You've got to tell me your secret to taming the Whomping Willow. I must say, it's very impressive."

Quatre chuckled softly, reaching out to touch one of the branches. "She's far from tame, Susan. I guess you can say I share a sort of empathy with her."

Trowa hummed in amusement. "Sort of."

Quatre gently prodded Trowa in the side with his finger, grinning back at the taller boy when he was given a pointed stare in return. "Let's go sit by the lake. I'm finished here anyway, and this is too beautiful of an afternoon to waste indoors."

When four o'clock struck, the three of them could be found lounging in a small enclosure of trees. Trowa picked through the rocks on the shore of Black Lake; when he would find a good candidate, he picked it up and skipped it across the surface of the still water. Seven, eight, nine skips before the rock would sink. The next one made it seven skips before it disappeared under the surface of the water.

Quatre and Susan sat with their backs against a large oak tree, idly chatting about classes and the news and what their holiday plans were.

"I'm going to visit my family in L4," Quatre told her with a softly smile. "Duo is coming with me. I think he is going to try to convince Draco to come along, too."

"Good luck with that," Susan said with a choked laugh. "I don't even think Malfoy has been outside of wizarding societies, much less off-world."

"It certainly would be a sight to see," Trowa added, skipping a rock eleven times before it plopped into the water.

"You won't be going, Trowa?" Susan asked.

"I'm still debating it," he replied placidly. "It would be nice to see my sister again, although she may be upset with me for not keeping in touch."

"Catherine would get over it really quickly," Quatre assured him. "But even if you can't make it, I'll be sure to give her your regards."

Trowa returned his boyfriend's smile.

"Did we change the meeting place?" Duo called out, making his way to Trowa (who he could see) with Heero and Wufei followed close behind him. "Somebody forgot to tell us. Oh, hey, the lovely Susan Bones is here!" Duo smiled charmingly at the girl and winked. "Hey, cutie, good to see you outside of class."

Susan blushed but knew that Duo didn't mean anything by his flirtatious words. She stood up and brushed away the grass that clung to her uniform. "I was just leaving, actually."

"Aww, how disappointing," Duo complained, pouting. He recovered his good-humor quickly. "I guess we'll see you at dinner then?"

Susan agreed before she left them to their gathering.

They immediately went to the Willow and ducked under the drooping limps with Quatre leading the way. When they settled in a circle near the base of the tree, the limbs knitted up around them, effectively protecting them from sight.

"Right," Duo said finally, grinning as he fiddled with his satchel. "First item on the table-"

"Rufus Scrimgeour," Quatre suggested, "followed by Blaise Zabini's proposal, and our choices from hereon: espionage, infiltration..."

"Or detonation," Duo interrupted smoothly, grinning as he offered the book he had pulled from his satchel. "The fun stuff always comes first, Q-Bean."

"We are not going to blow up the Ministry of Magic, Duo, that would be too excessive and counterproductive to our needs," the blond vetoed emphatically as he thoughtlessly accepted the book and glanced down at the title.

"I was talking about the book," Duo informed his friend dryly, "but I must admit, I _was_ leaning towards the plan with the most explosions."

No one thought to doubt the truth behind the American's comment. After all, his comrades were well acquainted with Duo's preoccupation with blowing things up.

The blond's lips parted in astonishment, Duo's jest filtering through one ear and out of the other as he reread the words printed on the cover. "Where on earth did you get this?"

"What is it?" Wufei asked.

"A guide to becoming an Animagus," Quatre replied, awed. "It's a restricted book. How...?"

"I asked Sirius if I could borrow some of his books. He didn't even ask which books I wanted to borrow," said Duo, proudly.

"He didn't even notice you take it?" Heero asked, already scanning through the preface once Quatre had passed it around.

"He was too busy looking for something on his mesk," Duo said gleefully.

"Mesk?" Wufei muttered, reluctant to hear the answer.

"A combination of mess and desk," the American said with straight-faced honesty, "therein concluding the event in which the desk and the mess became one seamless entity."

The Chinese Ravenclaw stifled a weary sigh. "Sometimes I wonder how and why you cerebrate the strangest thoughts, Maxwell..." _Then I fear ever knowing the truth_, he finished the sentence in a thought, keeping it to himself.

Duo beamed at Wufei cheerfully. "It's a gift." Then, immediately switching back to the topic at hand, he announced grandly, "_And_ he had it filed in with his tribute to prankster inspiration. As soon as I made it known that I was interested in causing future mischief, he welcomed me to it." He pointed at the book. "Obviously, this applies to said future mischief according to Sirius Black's shelving system. I'd love to see him try to accuse me of swindling him!"

The American threw his head back and cackled.

Quatre tried to politely ignore the devilish laugh by waiting until Duo had purged the hilarity from his system. When he began to suspect the braided-boy wouldn't stop until someone spoke up, the blond said reasonably, "It is only fair that we give Harry and the others the option of participating. After all, we are borrowing it from his godfather."

There was a complete about-face in Duo's demeanor. Like flipping a switch, he went from laughing madly to nodding his head earnestly in agreement. "Well, yeah, no doubt about that."

"We'll bring it up to them tomorrow morning," Quatre concluded, inwardly pleased that Duo had managed to find them a guidebook for aspiring Animagi. The thought of gaining the ability to turn into an animal had been enticing from the very beginning; the only setback was the strict regulations the Ministry imposed on purchasing a book detailing the transformation process.

"Good deal," Duo said. "Next on the itinerary: Scrimgeour." The name had been spoken with a sour twist of the American's mouth, and he added litigiously, "I've never even met this guy, but I'm already sick of him."

"Unfortunately, he's proven to be highly efficient as Minister compared to Fudge's term," Wufei said gravely. "He's only officially been in office for a day, but he already has a battalion of Aurors taking twelve-hour shifts in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. The rest are focused on reigning in the dementors and searching for Death Eaters. He has reinstated protocols for creatures called Inferi, reanimated dead bodies Voldemort used during his last rise. He's also trying to declare martial law, of which one of the stipulations is that a man must first bare his arms before gaining entry into any official Ministry building."

"As efficient as the new Minister is, he's still a pain in the ass," Duo replied. "So how are we gonna handle this douchebag?"

The Gundam pilots spent the next hour and a half discussing -or, in some cases, _not_ discussing -the answer to the American's probing question.

The sun split under the western horizon, and the descent spurred the nearby whooping of owls and the lazy whirring calls of insects that should have gone into hibernation shortly before the first snowfall; then again, creatures, even insects, rarely did what they were meant to do in the wizarding world. Exhausted from their long discussion, the five pilots trudged up the steep hillside and to the warm, welcoming confines of a castle that had become something of a home to them in the year since they began attending.

A smatter of students milled around the entrance of the Great Hall in preparation for dinner while the greatest majority already gathered within, eagerly anticipating the coming meal with ravenous attention.

Farthest from the large doors and closest to the exit, Draco and Blaise were having what appeared to be a very private conversation. Draco, facing the general direction of the exit, caught their movement in his peripheral. A throw-away glance revealed their identities; Draco's words hesitated before he whispered the last of them to Blaise.

Whether it was a warning or Draco insisting on a point was a mystery to them; either way, Blaise must have realized something was up. He looked around until he found what had briefly taken Draco's attention.

"Hello, Blaise," said Quatre mildly, owning the conversation with the first words.

Blaise briefly wondered if he wanted to wrest it away before deciding to follow the blond Hufflepuff's example. "Hello, Quatre," he smiled smugly, "Duo, Heero, Trowa, and Wufei."

Duo immediately broke into a grin. "Hey, Blaise, what's shakin'?"

Without missing a beat, Blaise replied serenely, "Everything seems awfully stable at the moment, though that seems like a positive import."

"It was an Americanism," explained Draco when his dark-skinned friend appeared bemused. "By the spirits, I can't believe I knew that," he added in a mutter, rather disturbed by it.

Duo snickered. "Just enjoy the moment, spoilsport. For once, you knew the basic meaning of something I said. That means you're learning."

"That is precisely what I disdain the most about it," Draco informed the American, matter-of-fact.

"Man, that was _harsh_," said American playfully lamented. "And I was trying to be helpful, too."

"I was under the impression the two of you were close," Blaise murmured.

"They are," replied Quatre, eyes shining with amusement. "Both of them always yearns for the last word. I believe they've turned it into something of a game."

"Unfortunately, that means the back and forth can go on four hours if we let it," Wufei said stoically. "Interrupting them at the earliest moment is a very effective way to deter them."

"Love you too, Wuffers," Duo quipped, bouncing on his heels.

"And you, Duo," Blaise prodded politely, "what is shaking?"

Duo laughed. "Everything. I'm permanently set on vibrate."

Trowa snorted, his hand flying over his mouth. This did not at all mute his audible snicker.

"I didn't mean it like that, you pervert," Duo said contritely, though he let a few chuckles slip by his defense. "Overtly lewd in hindsight, though. Good catch, Trowa."

The chatter from the Great Hall grew louder as the sounds of cutlery scratching on dinnerware, signaling that dinner was being served.

Duo's stomach exploded into desperate gurgling. Unembarrassed by his show of hunger, he latched on to Heero's arm and fluttered his eyelashes flirtatiously at his boyfriend. "Let's eat at your table, Hee-chan."

"Sounds like a plan," Quatre piped, tilting his head back to smile up at his taller boyfriend. "I think I would like to dine with the Slytherins tonight, too."

"You should come too, Woof," Duo chimed. "It'll be a historical moment in the history of Hogwarts -the day the representatives of all four houses sat at the Slytherin table. Maybe they'll even mention us by name in Hogwarts, A History?"

"Like you've ever read it," Wufei retorted mildly. "I'll join you if you swear to call me 'Wufei' for the rest of the evening."

"You drive a hard bargain, Wufei," Duo said grudgingly before turning toward the Great Hall. Though the American outwardly made no such oath, the fact he said the Ravenclaw's name, and not some twisted variation, was promising enough.

The rest of them were close behind, and continued one even as Duo came to a stop. The others passed him save for Heero, who came to a stop beside the braided boy and Blaise, who was to the very rear of the group and noticed the Gryffindor's strange behavior.

Heero glanced at Duo questioningly, but Blaise was already following the direction of his violet-eyed stare. The Divinations teacher was rapidly descending the staircase, which was odd in and of itself. Trelawney hardly ever ate her dinner with the rest of the school.

She was pale and trembling, her balance badly effected by her own tremors as she nearly took a serious tumble down the grand staircase. She managed to pull herself together with an inhaled sob, which she held as she rushed down the remaining steps. Trelawney didn't pay them any notice, despite that all seven of them were visibly gawking at her now.

Once she crossed the threshold, Trelawney broke down and wailed piteously, "_It's been stolen_!"

Duo's bag suddenly felt very heavy. He grimaced. _Aw shit_.

His friends and Blaise hurried to the doorway, curious and enraptured by the breakdown of Hogwarts most unstable professor. He chose that moment to quickly sneak away, clutching his satchel close to him as he ran all the way to the North Tower. The adrenaline pumped rhythmically with the beat of his heart, and his vision was overcome with a speckling of black dots.

He missed this; oh heavens, he missed the invincible feeling of an adrenaline rush, realizing suddenly that it was a natural addiction from which he suffered. He shook the wistful cobwebs from his mind as reality quickly set in. He had to put Trelawney's crystal ball back where it belonged and beat a hasty retreat before staff members came to investigate her claims.

Of all the crystal balls he could have borrowed, what the hell made him think it would be okay to take _hers_?

_**--**_

_**Flashback**_

_**--**_

_Duo warily poked his head into the classroom and frowned when he didn't see immediately see Trelawney. He wrinkled his nose when the overwhelming scent of incense struck him, but nonetheless, he steeled his resolve and cautiously entered the classroom._

_When he was half way down the isle, the bug-eyed professor came out of the back room. She stopped half a second after he did and blinked at him owlishly before her dozy expression lit up with recognition._

"_There you are, Mr. Maxwell," she exclaimed pleasantly. "Come in, come in!"_

_He reluctantly did so, winding up in the front of the empty classroom. He looked around furtively as Trelawney whisked to the opposite side of the room. He heard her open a drawer and rifle around within it as he looked at the window (wishing it were open), the door (wishing he were on the other side of it), and at the teacher's pink-clothed round table, upon which rested a crystal ball and a tarot deck._

_He was startled from his visionary exploration when Trelawney suddenly appeared on his left, shoving an object at him. He gave a start and managed to grab it before she pushed it into his chest._

_He stared blankly at the wooden box now clutched in his hands. It was an oak box stained ebony, with mismatched white lines cutting through fifty-five little squares and the fifty-sixth slot left empty. It vaguely recognized it as a puzzle box of some kind -the sort that had surprises inside._

"_Aw, Lawney," he said wittily, "I'm touched. It's not even my birthday yet."_

_The woman blinked at him, befuddled. "What are you talking about, dear boy? I'm _returning_ this to you."_

_It was Duo's turn to blink. "It's not mine."_

"_Of course it is," she murmured, patting his arm comfortingly. "It doesn't belong to anyone else." She abruptly turned and made a beeline for the room she had just left; Duo was surprised that, when the door was closed, it was hard to make out the doorway from the rest of the wall despite the wall itself being stone. There had to be some enchantment on it, likely so students weren't tempted to see what was inside._

_Personally, Duo thought that was where Trelawney smoked her pot. The lady had to be on something _good_._

_He sighed and shoved the box haphazardly into his bag, planning to inspect it more thoroughly later. His eyes were drawn back to her table, lingering on the tarot cards as he was attracted to the psychedelic design on the back of the cards. (Further proof that Lawney was a stoner.)_

_A strange billow of the smoke in the crystal ball immediately snatched his attention, and he stared harder at it. He leaned over it, frowning lightly when the smoke in the ball whiffed violently around until the image stirring the smoke finally registered in his mind._

_It was fire._

_**--**_

_**End Flashback**_

_**--**_

_And I was afraid I wouldn't get the same result with a different ball and snagged this one on impulse,_ Duo reminded himself sardonically. _What a genius move. _But he had used a crystal ball from one of the other tables to replace the one he had taken, not believing that Trelawney would be able to tell the difference.

_And you know what they say about assumptions_.

He made it to the North Tower(1) hardly winded, glad that Trelawney hadn't locked it up in her frenzied rush to the Great Hall. He whisked into the classroom and fished in his bag. He placed the crystal ball back on the empty stand, taking enough time to notice that it was oddly clear of smoke. He turned and rushed to the door, but stopped cold when he heard voices float up from the bottom of the tower.

_Damn!_

He turned and looked around frantically before his eyes froze on the closed window. Without a second thought, he ran to it and flung it open.

He looked down for a moment. _This is going to be one of the dumbest things I've ever done._

He climbed out of the window. Somehow he managed to cling to the wooden awning and haul himself up, using his boot to close the window again. He hoisted himself up and curled his body uncomfortably before he straddled the apex of the awning. He grimaced and shifted, hating his idea even more when his position put an almost unbearable pressure on his unmentionable bits.

He clutched at his satchel and the awning as the wind howled around him.

_Yep. This was a stupid idea._

--

He didn't know how long he was on the awning, teeth chattering in the cold high winds. It felt like hours. It could have been minutes. He didn't budge until it came to a point that he could not take it anymore. He leaned over used a spell to open the window from the outside before he quickly scrambled in, breathing heavily once his feet were on solid ground.

No one was in the room. A triumphant laugh fought its way out of Duo's mouth, but he held it in check.

He was quite the sight when he finally entered the Great Hall, disappointed to see that dessert was already being served.

Trowa chuckled at him when he sat down heavily in the empty seat beside Heero, who raised his eyebrows knowingly at the American.

"Trelawney accused Ron of stealing her crystal ball," Quatre said mildly, though his proper posture revealed his disapproval. "She said she saw him do it in a vision."

Duo groaned and let his head fall to the table with a solid thump. "You're kidding me."

"On the contrary, he's being serious," Wufei said. "Ron is with McGonagall and Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office at this very moment."

Duo sighed.

_I hate my karma._

--

Ron was uncomfortable. It wasn't because he McGonagall was escorting him to the Headmaster's office because of something the batty old seer had claimed to envision. It was mostly because, upon entering the office, the atmosphere certainly didn't feel like he should prepare for a heavy scolding.

"Ah, Mr. Weasley and Professor McGonagall!" The Headmaster called merrily, comfortably seated in his chair. He was nursing a cup of steaming tea. It was the healthy serving of food, which immediately caught Ron's eyes. In fact, the surface of his desk had been completely cleared off to make room for a rather large, ornate tea tray. On the tray sat a delicate china, including two other tea cups sitting upon tiny saucers, but sugar, lemon wedges, milk, and honey. The rest of empty space was taken up by several heaping platters of food. "Just in time for dinner!"

_Oh_, Ron thought numbly. _So this is the creepy grandfather side of Dumbledore that Harry's told me about_. In his opinion, his green-eyed friend was remarkably descriptive for three simple words. The grandfather bit was rather... unsettling.

So he sat in his chair, absently nibbling at the food on his plate with a glass of pumpkin juice in front of him. His Head of House and the Headmaster were doing small talk -nothing mind-boggling, just a little about the weather, gossip on the more notorious students; Harry suspiciously being left out of that student-teacher faux pas. Despite the blatant omission, Ron perked up when they started talking about those he would privately refer to as Duo & Friends.(1)

McGonagall was exasperated. "Up all hours of the night, hardly ever in their dorms to keep the younger ones in line, and every one of them spends an abnormal amount of attention on patrolling for wayward youths hours passed curfew." She tsked reproachfully. "I wouldn't doubt they would let Duo Maxwell roam free if I didn't know he spends his evenings at Professor Snape's mercy."

_Or lack thereof_, Ron thought, rather spitefully. Still, Duo never seemed to mind his evening punishments a la Snape, and the redhead was all for it. Back in sixth year, Duo was an absolute headache in potions, and he bantered with the surly Potions Master with cheerful innuendos and blatant winks. (According to Harry and Hermione, that hadn't changed all that much.) All that mattered was that the American got on the greasy git's nerves, and if the Head of Slytherin House wanted to prolong his torture by assigning Duo detention, he had Ron's blessing (more like "curse").

For all of his dark thoughts about the mysterious Heir to Slytherin, Duo Maxwell was a pleasant, if not joyous surprise... in a creepy sort of way.

_Wait a tick, Duo spends his evenings in the library with us_, Ron mused, his brow puckering in consternation. _How is he attending his detentions with Snape at the same time_?

"I can't fathom as to whom or what pursued you to think making Messrs. Yuy, Black, and Chang part of the Student Council was a good idea," the Deputy Headmistress lamented, giving the Headmaster a scolding glance.

_Man, McGonagall is _lit_,_ Ron mused.

"You failed to mention Mr. Winner," the Headmaster volunteered jovially, though his eyes were a little less bright than before.

"That's because the others are a bad influence on him," McGonagall remarked staunchly.

"Actually," Ron volunteered without thinking, "he's usual a really good influence on them." Which was true; whenever Quatre had input, the other four -and sometimes even Black -paid rapt attention. It wasn't surprising, seeing as how Quatre's advice usually turned out to be helpful most of the time.

Dumbledore didn't mind at all that Ron had interrupted them, saying rather lightly, "I thought as much myself."

"Is that so?" McGonagall said, a bit sternly. "Tell me, Mr. Weasley -you and your friends have gotten close to those five. Are they troublesome at all?"

"No," Ron said immediately, without having to consider the thought. Earnestly, he said, "They're actually really helpful, and they make things like studying worthwhile. And Hermione's gotten used to tuning out their antics, so it's a welcome relief for me and Harry." Ron rolled his eyes, slightly exasperated. "As much as I hate to admit it, even that blond nitwit Black is good for Harry. He never used to smile this much."

McGonagall's eyes widened at that announcement, and she humbly bowed her head to inspect the murky liquid in her cup. Despite the submissive retraction, she was actually smiling a little. Dumbledore, too, smiled brightly, obviously pleased with the news that the presence of the others were making profound changes.

Ron started, his brain promptly reminding him that he was in Dumbledore's office for a reason. "Er, well... I mean, aren't you going to-"

The door to Dumbledore's office sprung open, and Duo Maxwell boldly barreled in with a determined set to his shoulders. He marched to stand in the space directly between Ron and McGonagall's chairs, staring Dumbledore down with a stubborn jut to his chin. Dumbledore and McGonagall, however, were just as surprised as Ron had been when Duo burst into the office uninvited.

"I object!" Duo rallied in a loud voice.

"Mr. Maxwell!" McGonagall thundered.

"This is not in the interest of justice," Duo insisted. "This is brutally raping justice and leaving it in a ditch to die. I mean, c'mon! Ron is the kind of guy that would go around stealing crystal balls! Heck, he doesn't even _like_ Divinations. Why would he want a momento?"

"So you know who the culprit is, Mr. Maxwell?" McGonagall retorted sternly, her expression explicitly stating that she thought stealing a teacher's tool was right up his alley.

"No, but it isn't beyond belief that Trelawney dreamt the whole thing up," Duo said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't know why she accused Ron -isn't she supposed to be a seer or something? Why in the world did you even hire her?" This, of course, was directed at Dumbledore.

"Maxwell," McGonagall snapped, appalled that he would speak to the Headmaster in such a manner.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Duo placated the woman, making an effort to look humble. "I'm sorry. This is stupid, though -Ron didn't do anything!"

Ron gawked at Duo, hardly believing that the American had interrupted a meeting in Dumbledore's office just to fight for the redhead's honor. It was touching, but Ron didn't think it was strictly necessary. It wasn't often that he was sent to the Headmaster's office, but it happened to Fred and George loads of times. He'd been expecting an interrogation, not a private dinner.

"Indeed, I also find it hard to believe Mr. Weasley would do such a thing," Dumbledore announced with a twinkle in his blue eyes. "His presence here is to pacify our dear Divinations professor. Professor McGonagall has already confirmed that all crystal balls are accounted for."

"It's possible she had a dream," added McGonagall, "or her equivalent of a nightmare, at any rate."

Duo coughed and smiled brilliantly at the Head of Gryffindor House. "Fantastic! So I guess I'll-"

Duo's stomach erupted in a series of gargles.

"Ahem," he breathed, face reddening slightly as his gaze focused intently on the food laid out on the Headmaster's desk.

"Good heavens," McGonagall murmured, "didn't you eat anything at dinner?"

Duo answered with a weak grin. "Heheh, I'm still hungry. I should go... rectify that."

Ron placed his silverware down and stood up, looking strangely at Duo. "I think I'll go with you. That is, if I'm excused?" With this, he looked inquiringly at the Headmaster and his Head of House. When they granted him leave, he was only a step behind Duo.

The two of them were quiet until they were clear of the winding staircase. The gargoyle jumped back in front of the staircase, but Ron and Duo hardly paid any attention to it as they marched away.

Ron looked at Duo. "So... how did you manage it?" he asked lightly, though with a meaningful expression on his face. He wondered if what he suspected was true.

"Very carefully," Duo said craftily, "and I shan't say anything more for the risk of incriminating myself."

That would be an affirmative.

* * *

_**END CHAPTER TWENTY**_

(1) I'm only guessing Divinations classroom is the North Tower. I'm kinda rushed and can't be bothered to check. Indulge me.

I'm not the least bit happy with this chapter, but it's the best I can do at the moment. It's shorter than my usual fair and the point-of-view randomly changes in places. I would hold on to it and try to work on it more, but it's 0346 and I've gotta leave for the airport in an hour. (And I'm not even showered or dressed yet.)

Thanks to everyone for their persistence, and I'm sorry if the quality is poor! I'll try to do better next time -for now, I need my bloody vacation.

(For obvious reason, this isn't beta'ed. Sorry, 'Zanne, I was in a rush. :sad face: )


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